


Sing Your Melody, I'll Sing It Loud

by mischief_managed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Bottom Harry, Cheating, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, French!Harry, Kid Fic, M/M, Once the Musical/Movie au that no one asked for, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Top Niall Horan, irish!louis, it's not a major or sustained plot point, like i mean slow burn, some mentions of suicide and self-harm, this is a narry fic make no mistake, this story is 4 years of sweat and tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 62,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief_managed/pseuds/mischief_managed
Summary: “How long have I known you, now?” Niall asked Harry, moving his barstool closer to the brunette. The blonde was two pints in and was nursing a third. Harry was still on his first and munching on chicken tenders.“Three days, six hours and—” Harry stopped to check the time on his phone then continued. “Thirty-five minutes.” He smiled, eyes crinkling.Niall chuckled and looked away briefly. “I don’t really get it,” he said.“What don’t you get?” asked Harry, tilting his head to watch Niall.“Well, you’ve been so kind and everything - given me a new me!” Niall said happily, moving in a little closer to the brunette. “I don’t know how to thank you.”Harry looked down at his beer sheepishly. “It is really nothing…”“No, hang on!” Niall said, putting his hand over Harry’s wrist and looking directly into his eyes. “Listen, when we met I was in a bad place - it was more than giving up on music and you knew that. I love my da more than anything in the world but my little room above the shop and the same view of the street outside...that was looking like my life forever. And that was only three days ago. Three days….so thank you.”ORThe Once: The Musical/Movie au that no one asked for
Relationships: Camille Rowe/Harry Styles, Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Harry Styles, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	1. falling slowly

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this in 2016 in the spring semester of my freshman year of college. i got the idea for this after i went to see the US touring production of once: the musical with my best friend and her family and i just couldn’t stop thinking that niall would be a fantastic guy (you can’t tell me he wouldn’t be perfect to play the lead)??? and harry’s bohemian rhapsody lookin ass would be a great girl??? also i was UPSET by the ending of the movie and musical and i needed to FIX IT. and this was before any of their solo stuff was even released and i just needed to cope with 1D’s 18 months slowly passing into something much longer lol.
> 
> and then i stopped around finals that semester - this was at around 10k, page 50 on my google docs - life got really busy, college life was a lot. and then i didn’t touch this for four years except to read through it, make a couple minor edits, think about it, and then decide i didn’t have time to focus on it. i graduated, got a full time job, essentially just kind of grew up and all of that. so when the lockdown hit and i suddenly had a lot less to do, i decided to pull out my unfinished work and finally finish this au, just in time to celebrate 10 years of the band that ruined my life <3  
> 
> 
> ALSO - i google translated a lot of the french lmfao so if it’s wrong, I’M SORRY LOL. also i don't know anything about love island so when you get to the part, just pretend <3 any and all mistakes are my own!

Niall remembers the moment Harry walked into his life very clearly.

He remembers it only had to happen once before he realized Harry was going to change things; shake things up.

He remembers how Harry had given him a lopsided grin with bashful emerald eyes the first time he had spoken to him on the street.

He remembers how it felt like he was melting, and he remembers thinking for a very slight moment after they met that he was no longer going to be Niall, he was going to be Niall and Harry, Niall with Harry, and all the other combinations the world could come up with. They were two sides of the same coin who were seeing each other for the first time.

Niall remembers.

*****

This was going to be the last song he ever played on this ratty ass guitar. 

It was evening now, and September at that, which meant that at this point the tourists had gone off to Temple Bar for some nighttime fun and Fleet Street was fairly empty. The only people bustling around Niall now were locals, and they saw buskers like him so often that they either stopped caring or tossed him five or ten cents just to be nice.

Then again, Niall had stopped caring as well. There was nothing left to grab onto. This was the end of performing for him as far as he was concerned, so he was going to put his all into this farewell. He was tired. He didn’t even have any intention of taking his guitar back with him on the bus to the North Strand.

He crooned to anyone who would listen,

_“Who’s gonna be the first one to start the fight?_

_Who’s gonna be the first one to fall asleep at night?_

_Who’s gonna be the last one to drive away?_

_Who’s gonna be the last one to forget this place?_

_“Oh, spaces between us_

_Keep getting deeper,_

_It’s harder to reach ya even though I try_

_Spaces between us, hold all our secrets_

_Leaving us speechless and I don’t know why_

_Who’s gonna be the first to say goodbye?”_

Niall thought he was close to crying - he wasn’t sure. But after finishing the song, Niall gingerly placed his guitar back in it’s case. It was just like any other night he was in the heart of Dublin, getting ready to catch a bus home, guitar in tow. Except this time, he’d be going home with nothing but a pocketful of change.

“That song you play - you write it?” said an accented, syrupy voice behind Niall.

Niall turned around to see a tall man with long, curly, brunette hair and piercing green eyes staring at him. He was carrying an armful of magazines and wearing black jeans that were so skinny they could be leggings, tan suede ankle boots, a silver cross necklace, and a shirt only buttoned halfway, exposing tattoos all over his pale skin - the black feathered heads of two small birds peeking out from beneath his collarbones, and the head and antennae of what looked to be a butterfly or a moth were saying hello from where the first of the man’s shirt buttons met his sternum. The ink on the man’s arms littered his skin, ranging from what looked to be child-like doodles, to an intricate rose, a realistic pirate ship, and - was that a mermaid with pubic hair? He was bloody gorgeous and looked absolutely ridiculous at the same time.

“I know you can talk, I just heard you sing. Unless you cannot talk and can only sing. Or do you communicate using sign language? In that case, I apologize for my disrespect, but I do not speak sign language,” the man rambled on.

“I don’t know sign language,” Niall mumbled. His limbs had turned into jello, and it seemed he’d lost the ability to communicate like a normal fucking human being, too.

“I made you talk just now,” stated the weird man.

“I could talk already.”

“So you write this song you just play?”

“Yes.”

“It’s very good.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” the man said. “Hello.”

“Um, hey.”

There was a pause, and Niall felt uneasy under the man’s gaze. Why wasn’t he leaving yet? He didn’t know this guy, he could have just gotten the hell out of there already. He didn’t owe him anything. What if this man wanted to kill him? Or kidnap him? Or both?

The man spoke again. “Is it always me who has to start the conversation?” he asked with a devious grin, eyes shining.

“Well, you seem more up for it than I do,” Niall replied blandly, adjusting the gray newsboy cap he’d recently become accustomed to wearing.

“This English is not even my language,” the man said. “I am French. I come here three months ago.”

Of fucking course this guy was French. Niall should have guessed it, what with the way he was dressed and all. 

“What’s your name?” Niall asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I am Harry. Harry Styles,” the Frenchman said, adding, “Well actually, my name is Henri, but Harry sounds better when you’re trying to find a job in Ireland. And you are?”

“M’ name’s Niall. Niall Horan,” said the Irishman, extending his hand. Harry took it and they shook. Harry glanced at Niall once more, and Niall shifted on his feet.

“So why do you leave your guitar on the ground?” Harry questioned, pointing at the case on the ground.

“I don’t want it anymore,” Niall answered, a slight note of bitterness in his voice.

“Is it too heavy?”

“No.”

“You should pick it up, then. Guitars are expensive.”

“I have no use for it anymore.”

“Why?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions?” Niall answered, frustrated.

Harry just smiled in return. “You are interesting, no? So I want to know more about you.”

Niall ducked his head into his shoulder to hide the burn rising to his cheeks. Harry tilted his head in response, like he was trying to get a better look at Niall’s ruddy skin and blonde hair hidden under the brown grey blanket of the night. 

“You know, I see you play every day while I do my selling, but I have not heard what you are just singing before,” Harry finally said after a while, his grammar endearingly off to Niall.

“Um, well, tourists don’t really want to hear ya sing songs they don’t know,” Niall replied matter of factly. “If I played my own shit, they wouldn’t listen, and I wouldn’t get paid.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at Niall. “Do you not have a job? Is your music only for money, then?”

Niall was taken aback. “What? No, I fix Hoovers, ya know?” Harry stared at him blankly. “Like vacuums? I fix ‘em at me da’s shop. But me music is me music.”

“This is rather convenient then, as I have a broken - ah, Hoover, as you call it. It was my destiny to meet you today - to hear your beautiful song and of your fabulous fixing,” Harry said, his eyes brightening up in the darkness. “Come, walk with me then, it is just down the street. Oh, and bring your guitar, do not just leave it there.”

“I - okay,” Niall said. This didn’t usually happen. Niall had the same friends that he’s had since primary school, he lived with his dad even though he was 25 and should probably have had like, a career or something. He played the same spot on the same street every single night and generally went home around the same time. And suddenly a really pretty French man comes up to him and is genuinely interested in him as a person - well, what was the harm in saying no? Things had been so shitty for the last year that if today he was going to give up music entirely, then he’d have to pick up something else. And maybe, he thought, just maybe, it’d be Harry. It’d been so long for him, and well, he’d been lonely, so he picked up his guitar and followed the brunette man down Fleet Street.

Their destination turned out to only be about a minute or two walk away from Niall’s spot. It was a music shop, a place Niall had been in to browse once or twice, but he never actually bought anything since he had no need. Niall made out the words written on the fading, unlit sign - Tommo’s Place. And underneath in smaller lettering, “The place for all your musical needs.”

“This is not my shop, but my friend Louis’. He is very nice to me, he gives me the key to the place,” Harry explained. “I come here often to play piano, usually during my lunch break, but it is closed now, so I leave my Hoover here until I find someone to fix it, and by the grace of God, I find you! How glorious. Just wait here, I bring the Hoover out.”

Niall waited by the glass door as Harry rummaged through the front of the shop, until he came out rolling a small gray vacuum with a long, flexible hose, then locked the store. It was actually a Shark, not a Hoover, but Niall didn’t say anything. The brand didn’t really matter; if it was a vacuum, he and his da could probably fix it.

“What’s the problem with it?” Niall asked, getting down on his knees instinctively to inspect it, despite the fact that there was no light to see anything.

“It does not suck. It is a Hoover without a suck,” Harry replied very seriously.

Niall dropped his head to his knee to laugh. “I can fix it, I just need my tools,” he chuckled. “If you’re not busy, we can head over to my shop and have a looksie. It’s only a 20-minute bus ride to the North Strand.”

Harry clapped his hands together and gave Niall a twinkly look again. “Excellent. To the North Strand!”

“You sure it’s not too far for you?” Niall asked.

“I live in Cabra, only a 30 minute train ride this time of the night,” Harry replied.

“To the North Strand, then.”

“To the North Strand.”

*****

“Just a normal blockage of pipes,” Niall said, putting his tools down and turning from his cramped workspace to look at Harry. “Replaced the motor. I’ve made your Hoover suck again.”

From Harry’s left, Niall’s da Bobby furrowed his brow in confusion. “That’s a Shark,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it, Da,” Niall replied nonchalantly, not taking his stormy blue eyes off Harry.

“Well, thank you both for your help,” Harry interjected. “How much do I owe you?”

Before Niall could say anything, Bobby spoke up. “It’s free, love.”

“Da - “ Niall started, darting his head to gape at his father.

“No, I could not do that, I must pay you,” Harry objected.

“Five euro, then,” Bobby said. “And stay for tea, at least. A friends rate. For friends.”

 _Jesus,_ Niall thought to himself.

Harry smiled and handed over the money. It was in loose change, Niall noticed. “Alright then, here you go.”

Niall was dumbfounded. The fuck was his da thinking? Tea? It was almost nine at night. On one hand, he wanted to credit his da’s motives to old age, but Bobby really wasn’t _that_ old.

“Well come on in then, Harry,” Bobby said, motioning them to the stairs in the back room of the repair shop and into their tiny flat. 

“So you live up here, then?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, it’s a bit small, but it’s fine for us,” Bobby explained as he walked. “We’ve had the shop for as long as I can remember, but we moved in here ‘bout a year ago after me eldest son Greg moved out to Mullingar with his wife and son and me wife Maura died. Just me and Nialler, now.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Harry said. “As we say in French, ‘ _Je vous prie de bien vouloir accepter mes sincères condoléances_.’”

“Thank you very much, lad,” said Bobby softly. “Come on then, let’s get that tea made and then I’ll leave you and Nialler over there alone.”

“Da, I’m not 17 anymore,” Niall said, eyeing Bobby. Bobby simply gave him an unreadable look in return, then turned to the kettle.

It was silent between the three of them as the water simmered, and as Bobby worked, the only prominent sound being the ceramic cups being placed on the counter. Soon enough, the whistle of the kettle signaled the tea was ready, and Bobby spoke again.

“I’m going to go off to watch some telly and rest, but you lads can take your tea,” he said, before disappearing somewhere in the flat, leaving the two younger men alone with the silence once again.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Niall said apologetically as soon as he heard the telly turn on in his da’s bedroom. “He’s...he’s been awful lonely since me Ma died and he doesn’t see new people too often.”

“No need to apologize,” Harry said, waving his hand. “He is a good man, like my _mère_ , my mother. My parents were factory workers, and my _père,_ my father, he kill himself years ago when he cannot find a job. My mother has not been the same since.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry,” Niall said. One thing they had in common, Niall thought to himself darkly, at least one dead parent. He tried to shake the thought out of his head.

“ _Merci,_ ” Harry replied sincerely. “Before he go, however, he teach me how to play piano since he played violin. So it is okay - I have yet to kill myself.”

Niall snorted. “So I see,” he joked, earning himself another one of those bright grins from the Frenchman.

“Just a few hours ago you were thinking of killing yourself and jumping into the River Liffey but now I come into your life and save you and your guitar,” Harry said seriously, eyebrows raised. “Life is good, hey, even in Dublin.”

“I wasn’t thinking of killing myself.”

“Just your music.”

It was silent once again as the two stared each other down. Not maliciously, but as if they were both trying to decipher the other. Niall examined Harry very carefully, the way his hair curled, the dark ink peeking out from his shirt, but no matter where his bright blue eyes wandered, they always found their way back to Harry’s. He moved his chair closer to him. Suddenly, Harry looked away.

“I need to go,” he said in an almost whisper. He pulled out his phone and began to scroll through the notifications.

“What’s the rush?” Niall asked, suddenly confused by the change in mood.

“It is getting late, I must get home,” said Harry. Niall got the vague sense he was hiding something.

“Wait, come on, Harry, stay!” Niall burst out.

“What do you mean, ‘stay’?” asked Harry suspiciously. His eyes narrowed.

“Stay the night, ya know.” It came out sounding more like a question. The blonde moved closer to Harry and, with a sudden rush of confidence, brushed his fingers against Harry’s cheek and leaned in. Harry jerked his head away to avoid Niall’s lips.

“No,” Harry whispered, the hurt clear in his voice. “No. Fuck this, I have to go.” Without another word, he got up from the Horans’ kitchen table and hurried back down the rickety stairs to the bottom of the shop. Niall stood where he was for what felt like hours after Harry had slammed the door to the shop, until finally he went down gingerly to lock up for the night.

When Niall got back upstairs, Bobby was leaning on the doorframe of his room, nursing his tea in his hand. He was giving Niall another one of those looks, the one Niall had come to recognize over the years as the “As-your-father-I-am-very-disappointed-in-you” look. Niall figured Bobby had been listening the whole time. He was such a dad.

“Oh come on, then, Da, just say it. Don’t just look at me,” Niall said, slumping his shoulders.

“Well since you asked,” Bobby grunted sarcastically. “Ya fucked up, son.”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “Thanks.”

“You had a good lad there, and you went and scared ‘im off,” Bobby chided. “I know you’re tryin’ ta get over Zayn, but - “

“Da, I’m not. I’ve been perfectly over him for months now.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bobby snorted. He paused for a moment, then took a sip of his tea. “Son, you’re allowed to be sad about it. You and Zayn were together for a long time. But that doesn’t mean you can just impose on someone you just met who clearly just wants to be your friend just because you’re lonely and horny. Harry’s a nice lad, from what I can tell. Seems like a nice change, having him around.”

“I literally just met him,” Niall said matter-of-factly.

“So?” asked Bobby, taking another gulp of his now-lukewarm tea.

“I hate when you’re right, Da,” Niall sighed.

“I never get tired of hearing that,” said Bobby. “Now go on, sleep. Fix it in the mornin’.”

*****

Around 11:30 the next morning, Niall caught a bus back to Fleet Street. He’d kept his outfit simple, opting for a loose white t-shirt and jeans and topping it off with a flannel and desert boots. And, despite his insistence that his music was dead to him, he brought his old guitar with him. Fix it, his father told him, and fix it he would.

By 11:50, he was back on Fleet Street. With a little bit of apprehension, he walked past his usual spot and continued to Tommo’s Place. He looked at the glass door, and upon seeing a tall lanky character with long, curly brown hair with a man who must’ve been Louis among all the musical instruments, Niall took a deep breath to quell his nerves and walked in, the bell atop the door clinkling.

“Harry,” Niall breathed out. Harry tensed at his place at one of the pianos. He didn’t turn around to look at Niall.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” said the man next to Harry. He was shorter than Harry by a few inches, but with his icy blue stare and thin mouth, he seemed infinitely fiercer. He was wearing an Adidas sweatshirt, rolled skinny jeans, and old Vans. Niall was only a few inches into the shop, but he immediately felt intimidated by him.

“Um, maybe I should go,” Niall stammered.

“No, no, stay, we should have a talk,” said the smaller man, taking a few steps toward Niall. Niall was suddenly very afraid for his life. “You’re Niall, aren’t you?”

“Erm - yes?” Niall gulped. 

“Are you sure? Because it sounds like you’re not sure.”

“I’m Niall, I’m very sure I’m Niall.”

“Great. I’m Louis, that’s Loo-wee, not Lewis, I own this shop, and I consider Harold over there to be a good friend.” His bright blue eyes felt like they were boring into Niall’s soul.

“My name is not Harold, Louis,” Harry piped.

“Not now, Harold, I’m tryin’ to protect ya,” Louis said, moving closer to Niall and puffing out his chest a little. “So what’s this I hear about ya makin’ a pass at my dear Harold over here?”

“I was just a bit lonely- ” Niall attempted. Louis was having none of it.

“Oi, a bit lonely, you say?!? We’re all a bit lonely, that’s what the world is these days! But you gotta show some restraint, ya hear me?!?” Louis crowed loudly, his sharp nose in Niall’s face. Niall nodded fiercely. “Look mate, I know it’s hard to get some satisfaction these days. But ‘cha better off with ya hand than hurtin’ this precious creature, me young Harold here, or anyone for that matter! You understand me?”

“Yes! Yes, oh my God, yes!” Niall croaked, turning beet red. He looked to Harry, desperate and embarrassed and exasperated, and attempted to sidestep Louis despite the weight of his guitar on his back. “Harry, I came to apologize, I really don’t know what I was thinking last night. And if you’ll still have me, we can still be friends?”

It was Louis’s turn to look at Harry now, who up to this point still hadn’t said a word about Louis’s rant, except to correct his name. “Don’t speak Harry, I’m not done with him yet,” Louis said darkly.

He turned back around to face Niall, poking his finger straight into Niall’s shoulder. “Lookie here, you. Harry’s only been here a few months, he doesn’t need arseholes like you to take advantage of him. Ya know, I take it on meself to protect the unprotected, I know defense skills, I can rearrange your whole body and put it back together. I could seriously fuck you up. So don’t go messing around, especially not with me Harry. He’s the only person who can ever say me name right, I’d die without him.”

“Lou,” Harry finally spoke. Louis turned back around to look at him.

“Yes, dear Harold.”

“Can Niall and I have a moment alone?”

Louis cleared his throat softly. “Oh,” he said, slowly ducking out of Niall’s way, but keeping his eyes narrowed at the blonde. “Um, yeah. Yes. Of course. Uh, I’ll just be in the storage room then. Call if you need anything, Harry, you know, in case the arsehole tries something again.”

He walked over to Harry, giving him a quick squeeze on the arm before heading into the back of the shop. Harry walked backward a little bit to make sure Louis was out of the way, before coming toward Niall, shaking his head.

“You should know he has left the door to the storage room ajar,” Harry said finally. The air was tense, and Harry was standing a good distance from Niall and looking down at the floor. “Um. So what were you saying?”

Niall felt his cheeks burn up again, but he managed to compose himself enough to talk. “Right. Uh. Yeah, I just wanted to apologize again for trying to come onto you yesterday, I had no excuse. I knew I fucked up, me da told me I fucked up too,” he said sincerely. He put his hands in his pockets, trying not to look so fidgety. It probably didn’t work, but then again he was avoiding Harry’s deep green gaze.

“I forgive you, Niall,” Harry said, tilting his head at him the way he did the first time they met the evening before. “And we can still be friends, like you asked. We’re grand.”

The tension cleared and so did the apprehension on Harry’s face. Niall, relieved, had finally looked up to face him once Harry had forgiven him. Next thing he knew, Harry was wrapping him up in his large frame and long arms. Niall was surprised at first, but soon enough he melted into the hug and placed his hands around Harry’s waist, nuzzling into Harry’s shoulder.

When they finally let go, Niall spoke again. “Um, I remembered what you said yesterday about how I’m letting my music die, and I wanted to bring my guitar by to maybe show you some more of my music if you’re up for it?”

Harry frowned. “I have to go back to work soon,” he said, but at seeing Niall’s face fall he pulled out his phone and added, “But give me your number, and I will text you when my shift is over.”

“Oh yeah, definitely, great,” Niall said, pulling out his own phone. “We can meet back here?”

“LOUIS!” Harry bellowed in the general direction of the storage closet. Niall, luckily, hadn’t been in Harry’s vocal line of fire, but _goddamn._ Harry’s. Voice. Was. Loud.

“WHAT?” Louis yelled back, slightly muffled from his location.

“CAN I MEET NIALL BACK HERE WHEN MY SHIFT IS OVER?”

“WHAT?! WHY?!”

“I HAVE FORGIVEN HIM!”

“JESUS CHRIST. FINE!”

“THANK YOU, LOUIS!”

“YEAH, YEAH, WHATEVER.”

Harry turned back towards Niall. “We can meet here later this evening, if you’d like,” he said, the lopsided grin back in place. “I do have the key after all.”

“Perfect, absolutely perfect,” said Niall excitedly, taking Harry’s phone and creating a new contact for himself. He added a guitar emoji next to his name and then put the phone’s camera into selfie mode so he could add a goofy picture of himself as the contact photo. 

It was nearing 12:30, and Harry needed to get back to selling magazines, so the two of them said a quick goodbye to Louis and walked back out onto Fleet Street to go on with what they considered their usual routines for the day before they met each other. The only difference from the moment they met though was that for the first time in a while, Harry had someone else to look forward to seeing, and Niall decided that maybe his music, in fact, was not dead.

Tired, perhaps, but not dead.

In the two minutes after Niall had begun to take his guitar out at his usual spot, his phone buzzed with a new message from Harry.

“ _Bonjour, mon ami_ ,” it said, and when Niall looked up from his phone to look down the street, the only sight he really cared about was the mop of curly brown hair, green, shimmering eyes, and a pink, lopsided smirk waving back at him.

*****

Niall remembered Zayn. He remembered his soft, raven hair, and his long, dark eyelashes. He remembered how those eyelashes felt brushing against his cheek when they’d kiss, and the physical contrast between his own pale skin and bottle blonde hair and Zayn’s natural caramel skin and hazel eyes.

He remembered how the two of them would sing together while Zayn blasted music from their shared flat in Glasnevin, and the times they’d sing together in the shower. Zayn would croon in his buttery smooth voice, the words to a song by Chris Brown or Usher, bring a deep harmony to Niall’s strong tenor as they fucked against the wall with the water pattering against their backs. Niall thought about moments like that one a lot.

He remembered the first time they met. It was a party during his third year of uni, and Niall was sitting in his mate Eoghan McDermott’s shitty flat, half-drunk and playing his guitar while people walked by mostly ignoring him.

“You’re really that guy?” said a voice that Niall recalled sounded like serenity but belonged to the pair of legs clad in black skinny jeans in front of Niall.

“What?” Niall asked dumbly. He was beginning to get red faced from the beers he’d had.

“You’re that white guy at the party who plays ‘Wonderwall’ on his guitar,” the voice laughed, and the legs plopped down on the couch next to Niall. When he looked up, it was then that Niall swears he saw the face of God, but that could have just been the alcohol speaking. He still can’t accurately separate the difference between the two to this day. But in all honesty, the person who had just sat next to him was bloody beautiful, black quiffed hair, thick eyebrows, tanned skin, sharp cheekbones, and the most glittery hazel eyes Niall had ever seen framed by dark scruff. To pissed-off-his-ass Niall, this was the face of God. If God smoked cigarettes around perfectly plush, pink lips, that is.

“Don’t hate, Oasis was a wonderful band and ‘Wonderwall’ is an iconic song,” Niall proclaimed rather proudly. Maybe a little too proudly.

“It’s also basic as fuck,” the man said, grinning, cigarette still between his lips. He wasn’t Irish, Niall noted mentally. 

“You’re not Irish,” the blonde said stupidly, intoxicated not just by the alcohol, but by the fact that this gorgeous bloke was actually talking to him, Niall would later think.

“So you noticed,” the dark haired beauty sitting next to Niall said, still smiling and still smoking. “‘M from Bradford, in England.”

“Born Dubliner, here,” Niall replied. “Irish and proud.”

The dark haired man snorted. “I hope this doesn’t sound stereotypical, but mate, you definitely look it.”

“What do you mean?” Niall pouted like a petulant child. 

“Babe, your face is all red, you’re slurring and your eyes are all glazed over,” said the man. He reached his free hand to feel Niall’s cheek and Niall leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. “And your skin is cold. Very drunk, very Irish.”

Time felt a little like it slowed down in that moment, for Niall at least. He honestly didn’t think he was _that_ inebriated, since the next day he remembered every single moment of Eoghan’s party - especially meeting the smoky stranger - in the morning. 

“‘M actually only a li’l drunk,” Niall said, a sloppy, glazed expression that he meant to be seductive on his face. “But I am very Irish, and I am very Niall.”

The man was down to the filter of his cigarette at this point, and he looked down in amusement, smiling to himself. Before Niall could process it, he was gazing at him with those sparkling amber eyes. Niall felt a sensation in the bottom of his stomach that he compared to the feeling of being on a rollercoaster getting ready to drop after a long climb.

“Hello, very Niall,” said the man, leaning in a little closer to the blonde. “I am very Zayn.”

Niall giggled. He honest to God giggled, he remembers. He remembers that to hide the slight embarrassment he felt, he looked down and strummed a simple little melody on his guitar. Zayn smiled at him a little more, and once again Niall felt like the world paused just for them.

“Oi, Zaynie!” someone from across the room called. Niall couldn’t tell who it was. “It’s almost 1am we gotta dash to the next house!”

“In a second, Danny!” Zayn called back, then turned and gave Niall a wistful sort of look. Niall was disappointed by this sudden change in events. He was planning on maybe talking with this beautiful person all night until he reached enlightenment, Nirvana, heaven, whatever it was that was above this life. He wanted to know everything about him, he wanted to hold his hand, he wanted to innocently fall asleep with his head in Zayn’s neck and wake up tangled with him on top of Eoghan’s homely couch in the morning. But Niall supposed he’d have to settle for this.

“Gimme your arm,” Zayn said to Niall, and Niall did as he was told. Zayn pulled an expensive-looking black brush pen and took the blonde’s arm, rolling up the sleeve of his rust-colored sweater and beginning to mark something into Niall’s ivory skin. _Zayn,_ it said, with a number following it. Zayn was still smiling as he wrote, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. “Call me tomorrow when you’re sober, okay? Hope you remember whose number that is in the morning.” 

Zayn got up from the couch, put out his cigarette in the small bowl Eoghan had placed on the coffee table for attendees who smoked, and headed towards the door, giving Niall one last longing look before disappearing from Niall’s blurry vision.

Minutes later, Niall was still staring into space, maybe trying to breathe in what was remaining of the scent of Zayn’s smoke. His mind was filled with increasingly blurry images of the beautiful man’s utter lusciousness. Yeah, that was the word, Niall thought. Lusciousness. Next thing he knew, he was out like a light on Eoghan’s couch, guitar, but sadly no Zayn, in his arms.

When Niall came to the next morning, it was to bright light, the glide of felt on his face, and Bressie, Lewis Capaldi and Eoghan’s obnoxious cackling. His guitar had been moved to the coffee table.

“Mate, trace his nose,” giggled Eoghan. “Noses are shaped like dicks.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” said Bressie. There was some shuffling, and then the Sharpie was meeting Niall’s face again.

Irritated, he scrunched his nose and smacked the marker away from his face, not caring that there was probably a black line going across his cheek. “Fuck off, the lot of ya,” he groaned. 

“Woah ho ho, looks like Sleeping Beauty’s awakened,” Lewis mocked. “Had a bit too many last night, did ya?”

“Di’int even have that much,” Niall grunted, squinting at the sun spilling through Eoghan’s shitty blinds. He had a crick in his back from sleeping on Eoghan’s shitty couch, too. Honestly, Eoghan’s entire flat was just so completely shitty, but at 300 euros a month, you get what you pay for, Niall supposed. “Only had a few bottles o’ beer.”

“Mate, you passed out before 2! If that’s all you had, I’d question your drinking abilities,” said Bressie, the fucking knobhead.

“Yeah, man, are you even Irish?” added Eoghan, hair sticking up in various directions.

“Shut up, please, everyone just shut up.” Niall wasn’t hungover, honestly, but he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples anyway. Getting headaches was simply a side effect of being friends with these three idiots. (And okay, none of them were idiots, since Lewis was majoring in Marketing, Innovation and Technology, Eoghan was completing his Masters in Communications, and Bressie - who’s real name was also Niall but everyone’d been referring to him by his last name Breslin for so long there was no point in correcting it - was working towards a PhD in like, International Conflict Resolution or something. They weren’t idiots, but they were idiots.) “Shit, what time is it?”

“It’s only - “ Eoghan paused, pulling out his iPhone, “Ten-thirteen in the morning.”

Huh. It was actually earlier than Niall expected. Saturdays he’d usually sleep until 11:30, at least. Especially after a rager the night before. He must have been doing the whole staring blankly thing again, because Eoghan spoke again.

“Oh Nialler, I see you got Zayn Malik’s number last night,” he said from his spot at the stove of his shitty kitchenette.

“Wha - “ Niall started, then suddenly it dawned on him who Eoghan was talking about. He looked at the name and number written so elegantly on his arm and remembered God smiling upon him while he made a fool of himself playing ‘Wonderwall.’ Except it wasn’t God. It was Zayn, who might as well have been the closest thing to God Niall had ever laid eyes on. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Eoghan, do you know him?!?”

The blonde couldn’t see it, but he just knew Eoghan was grinning mischievously as he was frying breakfast and looking at Bressie. “Oi, looks like Niall’s got a little crush, Bress.”

“And on the top of the class at the Institute of Education, too,” Bressie quipped.

Niall frowned. “I hate you both,” he said. “And who said anything about a crush? I only talked to him for like, fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Ni. I saw it happen,” said Eoghan as he cooked. Niall’s stomach growled in response to the smell of Eoghan’s famous Saturday omelette. “You looked like the heart eyes emoji the entire time you two were talking. Swear I’ve never seen you look that way at anyone, not even your Nando’s.”

Bressie barked out a laugh, “That’s a good one, McDermo.”

“You two are insufferable,” Niall said, stomach groaning for attention again. “Who cares if I have a crush? Zayn’s fuckin’ gorgeous.”

“It’s nothing on me, mate,” said Eoghan, finishing up at the stove. 

“Nialler, just be careful. We’re just worried about you, ya know you’re so young and this is the first time I’ve ever seen ya serious about someone who gives you their number at a party,” Bressie explained. “Zayn’s a bit...mysterious from what I’ve heard. Reminds me of a quieter version of you, actually. Less overt. Not bad, though.”

Eoghan piped in, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard a bad word about that Zayn kid.”

As the four of them gathered to eat at the shitty kitchen table, Eoghan continued, “Like, everyone always just kind of describes his personality and all his accomplishments.”

“I’ve heard he’s developing a curriculum for inner city kids,” Bressie said.

“And I’m pretty sure he had an internship with the Minister of Education and Skills himself,” Eoghan went on.

“I think someone once told me he has a modeling job on the side,” Lewis added, raising his eyebrow and chowing down on his portion of omelette.

Niall narrowed his eyes. “You lot are making him sound like Regina George,” he said through a mouthful of egg. He paused mid-chew to examine his friends’ faces as they were telling him all this.

Eoghan looked up as he shoveled his omelette in his mouth. “Okay, the modeling part probably isn’t true, but the rest of it is, more or less. Zayn Malik’s probably one of the smartest students at Dublin City University. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t heard of him before last night,” he said with his mouth full, before shrugging and going back to his breakfast. “You’re Niall Horan. You know everybody, and everybody knows you.”

Niall sighed. Bressie and Eoghan always said that to him, and he really didn’t think it was true. He knew a lot of people, and a lot of people knew him, but that didn’t mean he knew _everybody._ When he thought about it, Niall didn’t really even have that many people he considered a friend. He had Eoghan and Bressie because he’d known them for so long that they might as well be brothers, Lewis because they had become each other’s go-to for homework in Intro to Business and were instantly inseparable, and a few other people from around campus that he’d go out for pints or study with. But he kept his inner circle small; everyone else could be considered an acquaintance.

The three of them finished their meal in silence, and Niall’s thoughts kept drifting to Zayn. Niall was a Business Studies major, not English, so he really didn’t have much of a range when it came to how he’d describe him. In his mind, the only thing that could really describe his appearance, his personality - basically what he knew about him - was simply, beautiful. So he figured the only way to ever figure him out was to actually give him a call. When everything was clean, he said his goodbyes to Bressie, Lewis and Eoghan and headed outside the building to get back to his dorm. Maybe grab a shower while he was at it, since he knew he probably reeked of alcohol and smoke.

When Niall finally got back, he pushed up the sleeve of his sweater to reveal the soft strokes of black that made up Zayn’s name and number. He was lucky it hadn’t faded yet. He punched the numbers into his phone, took a deep breath and hit ‘call’.

“Hello?” said a thick, scratchy voice after three rings. It was undeniably Zayn, and it was undeniable that he’d just woken up, even though it was past noon. Niall felt his chest tighten and his heart race.

“Um, Zayn?” he asked. “It’s Niall? Dunno if you remember me, we talked a bit last night at Eoghan’s and you wrote your number on me arm? Said I was, ‘very drunk, very Irish’ if I recall correctly.”

“Holy shit.” Niall heard rustling on the other end of the line, and a thud. “No, no, I definitely remember you. Wow, okay. Jesus, I actually didn’t think you were gonna remember _me_.”

Niall figured now was as good a time as ever to be totally candid.

“Couldn’t get ya out of me head, if I’m being’ honest,” Niall said. Zayn made a whimper-cough type sound on the other line. The blonde furrowed his brow in concern. “Mate, you good?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” Zayn replied softly. From where he was in his dorm, he wondered if Niall could hear the way his heart was beating over the phone, and he wondered if he could imagine the huge grin on his face. “I just...I couldn’t stop thinking about you after I left, either.” 

Walking back to his room in Hampstead Apartments, Niall felt like he could fly away. It was working out so well. Gathering his courage and seeing that at this point he had nothing to lose, he said, “Well then, how would you feel about going out sometime? Like, on a date?”

Zayn laughed. “I’d love to, Niall.”

*****

Two weeks later, they were always making excuses to see each other. They’re schedules, coincidentally enough, were complementary, making it easier for them to fall into step. Zayn had taken Niall to the Irish Museum of Modern Art, and Niall listened attentively to the dark-haired man’s commentary on each piece they looked at. His eyes softened at Zayn as he spoke so passionately about his favorite pieces, and after a few hours of genuinely soaking in every word like a sponge, Niall couldn’t take it anymore, his heart felt so big with the amount of fondness that had grown for him so quickly.

They were standing in a [long corridor that was completely empty except for thousands of golden speech bubble-shaped balloons that flooded the ceiling](https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.gladstonegallery.com/artist/philippe-parreno/work-detail/857/em-speech-bubbles-gold-em&sa=D&ust=1596045719216000&usg=AFQjCNFTdX3iq40FPB5-BJ5VvgBejnpcmA). The light from the windows reflected off the balloons, giving the white room a yellow-amber tint. 

It was the first room they had come across in the entire museum where Zayn was actually, well, speechless. When they walked in, he was awestruck at the simplicity of the scene, and now his hazel eyes were wandering across every corner of the room, examining the details and forming ideas in his head. From Niall’s point of view, the way the light hit Zayn had him revisiting his Literal God comparison. His eyes sparkled and his skin was glowing, and God help Niall, he couldn’t look away. From Zayn’s perspective, the yellow light gave Niall this sort of halo effect, and with the way it reflected in his blue eyes combined with his blonde hair, Zayn swore Niall was actually shining. 

“Zayn. Hey,” Niall said, lightly touching the tips of his fingers to Zayn’s. As if he’d done it a million times before, Zayn intertwined his hand with the blonde’s. “Hey, look at me.”

Zayn turned his head to meet Niall’s bright eyes, then flicked his own amber ones to Niall’s lips. The blonde was about to lose it, so before he could piss himself from the nerves, he leaned in and closed the gap between them with a soft kiss complete with lidded eyes and shared breaths.

 _Ka-chick! Churrr,_ went a sound behind them. Niall whipped his head around to see a ginger-haired girl, maybe a few years younger than them, holding one of those old Polaroid cameras. She held a freshly printed film in between her fingers, and when she looked up and saw Zayn and Niall staring at her, she turned almost as red as her hair.

“I’m so sorry,” she started, flustered. “I just...the light was hitting you guys so perfectly, and it was such a beautiful moment, I just had to take the picture, oh my God I know that’s so creepy - ”

“Can I see the picture?” Zayn cut her off, but there was no heat in his voice. Niall wasn’t mad either, just a little surprised, was all.

The girl paled, looking nervous. “Oh. Yeah, sure,” she said, handing the square-shaped paper to him.

“Ni, look,” Zayn said, almost whispering, nudging Niall and leaning in close. “She got our first kiss on camera.”

Niall glanced at the shot. It was a view of the whole room, balloons, blank walls, linoleum floor and all, but the two of them were in the lower left corner of the middleground, meeting lips, turned into dark silhouettes by the golden sunlight pouring onto them from the front. Niall thought about the picture, how Eoghan was always describing them as being light and dark, the moon and the sun - a perfect contrast - but now in this picture, they were equals. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even Bressie or Eoghan, but his eyes got misty from looking at it.

“This is beautiful,” the Irishman choked out finally.

“Can I buy this off you?” Zayn asked, looking at the ginger-haired girl. She turned red again.

“I - I’m not a professional or anything, I just kind of do this as a hobby,” she replied. “You can take it.”

Zayn waved at that notion. “No, it doesn’t matter, this was a great shot, the composition of it is amazing. I haven’t seen any other pictures you’ve taken, but I think you’ve got talent. Besides,” he said, pulling out his wallet and turning to give Niall a fond look, “I think this a moment we’ll want to remember for a long time.”

He handed her a tenner. “Thanks so much, um...?” Zayn trailed off, realizing he didn’t know her name.

“Oh, my name’s Sophie,” she said. “But, no, thank _you._ ”

“Well, Sophie, I’m Zayn,” he said, and pointing at the blonde, “And this is Niall.” Niall smiled and waved.

Sophie looked absolutely delighted. “Wow, thank you again, you two,” she said. “I’ve kind of got to get going now, but I really can’t thank you enough.”

She put her Polaroid camera in its designated case and shook both of their hands before waving at them and leaving the exhibit.

Zayn turned to Niall, holding the film carefully between his fingers.

“You know how I didn’t say anything when we walked in here?” he asked. 

Niall nodded, unsure where he was going with this.

“Look at the picture. There was so much I was thinking about this whole trip with you, and the time we’ve spent so far. And when you kissed me, everything that I was thinking about, all my worries, all my hopes - for those few seconds, all of it just kind of flew away like balloons, leaving just you and me and what we have. And I think that’s what really matters.”

*****

Of all the ways Zayn permeated his life, Niall likes to think some of his personal favorites were the times Zayn would kiss him slowly and torturously as Zayn worked him open in bed, completely at his mercy. The way Zayn handled him so carefully no matter how rough they were being, the sheets pooled around their bodies, the two of them panting like they’d just run ten miles without stopping. Blood boiling, skin pulsing, sweat beading at their temples, Zayn leaving purple bruises all over the inside of Niall’s pallid thighs.

Or mornings when Zayn would have to leave for work or class and Niall would whine and tug on Zayn’s shirt (or, in the absence of a shirt, wrapping himself around Zayn’s neck) and pulling him back into bed so he could cuddle and laze away and trace every tattoo on Zayn’s body for the thousandth time. (And maybe duck a little bit under the covers to suck him off.)

Around the second year they were together, Zayn had bought a Polaroid of his own, and as Niall rested his eyes and buried himself into the pillows after Zayn made him come three times in a row, Zayn would take a picture and show Niall as he dozed off.

“I love you,” Niall whispered, muffled by the bedding, and Zayn wrote the words, ‘Pillowtalk’ on the white border at the bottom as he whispered it back to him.

This went on for four years, and for four years everything seemed perfect. Niall didn’t have particularly big plans for himself, but Zayn made him feel like he could do anything. He made him feel good enough. Like he mattered.

And then it started to fall apart.

*****

  
Just as quickly as Niall and Zayn had become NiallandZayn, they became strangers. 

Niall remembers it all. He doesn’t want to, in fact after they’d finally snapped in two Niall had been desperate enough to Google things like “self-brainwashing” and “memory suppression”, but he does. And it hurts every. Single. Time.

Bressie for sure wasn’t lying when he said Zayn was the top of his class in the Institute for Education. He was busy; he had internships and meetings, and by some miracle balanced all of that with his perfect grades. He graduated top of his class with a job immediately lined up for him in the Minister of Education and Skills Office, plus he was spearheading volunteering programs that actually put the customized curriculum he spent all of uni working on into action for Dublin City kids.

Meanwhile Niall had ended up using his fancy business degree to take over his Da’s humble little vacuum fixing shop. And he was content with that. He was a simple man. But Zayn was gone all the time, and Niall was lonely. In the times that Zayn was home, he was preoccupied with grading, and research, and paperwork.

“It’s like I don’t exist anymore,” Niall had said to Zayn one night during dinner.

Zayn looked away from his laptop to look at his boyfriend, eyes full of remorse. “Nialler, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching his hand over to grab Niall’s. “I promise all this will be over soon, it’s just because I’m new, there’s a lot they’re tasking me with, you know?”

Niall had smiled and said he understood. And he held Zayn to that promise.

But a couple more years passed and their relationship had devolved into tense, quiet nights of Niall sleeping alone and Zayn crawling into bed in the early hours of the morning after finally finishing his work for the night. Niall giving Zayn the cold shoulder when he’d have to delay dates (when they’d even be able to schedule one) because Zayn had essentially been babysitting some of the kids he was working with. Sex lost the fire and urgency it once had and seemed to happen just because Niall and Zayn figured they were obligated to. Sessions would leave one or both of them crying and someone sleeping on the couch.

Niall knew it was selfish of him, but he couldn’t help but resent Zayn’s success and drive in his career, and the passion that he had that had made Niall fall in love with him in the first place. Sometimes he thought that Zayn was choosing his career over him. And in a little part of his mind, he also couldn’t help but believe that he was holding Zayn back, that Niall wasn’t an intellectual equal.

But Niall still held on to hope and figured this was just one of those rough patches that couples go through. The fantasy of a picket fence future where Zayn and Niall exchanged rings with Bressie and Eoghan and Lewis and Bobby cheering them on took over his mind on particularly bad days. And he would think, maybe proposing would make Zayn pay more attention to him.

And then one day Zayn came home with news that would change everything.

“I got a job offer in New York City.”

Niall looked up. “Babe, that’s amazing.”

Zayn chuckled, his eyes sparkling with excitement, “They want me to work in the public school system. They’ve seen my work here in Dublin with disadvantaged kids and they want to try and implement the curriculum into their own to try and fix the system.”

“I’m so proud of you, Zayn,” said Niall, pulling Zayn into a hug.

“I just...I feel like everything I’ve done is paying off so well, like, I wish you could see some of these kids when they do the program, they’re so happy and for the first time in a lot of their lives someone’s telling them they’re worth something and it makes me so...overjoyed,” Zayn said, squeezing his boyfriend like there was no tomorrow. 

But. This new opportunity was in an entirely new country. Niall didn’t even think he had enough money for a simple plane ticket to New York, let alone a full blown move. So he knew what he had to do.

At the end of the day, Niall would do anything for Zayn. He’d let him go, if it meant that the love of his life would be completely happy. Niall knew his own limits, he knew that a life in the city that never sleeps wasn’t for him, and it probably never would be. And although Zayn’s job offer was news to him, Niall realized that for a while now, he’d accepted that maybe he wasn’t meant to be in Zayn’s future.

And neither of them were blind. They were realists. Just like Niall, Zayn knew his limits, and he knew that choosing Niall over the career he spent so much of his life working for simply wasn’t good logic. This was his chance to do good in the world, and things with Niall weren’t the same as they used to be.

Before she died, Niall’s mother fancied herself a wise one and loved giving her sons unsolicited advice, which for Niall was one of those little things about parents that frustrate you when you’re young, but think about fondly as you get older. 

“Don’t lose yourself trying to love someone,” she used to say, and Niall couldn’t help but hear Maura’s voice in his head in the days that followed.

So Niall brought it up a week after Zayn first announced the job offer. And for the first time in years (a realization that shattered Niall on the inside), they were on the same page. 

By the time summer rolled around, Zayn was in New York, Niall was back at his Da’s, and their old flat in the heart of Dublin was cleared out and empty, the ghost of a love that died, rich with memories, the only thing that remained.

*****

“Fucking hell,” Niall said, hands in his pockets as Harry unlocked the door to Tommo’s Place. The daylight was slowly making its way out, the darkness beginning to settle in for the night.

“Louis is lovely, isn’t he?” Harry responded, finally getting the door open with some jiggling of the key.

Niall paused for a bit at that, then followed Harry into the shop. “I thought he was going to kill me then,” he remarked.

Harry smiled fondly. “Yes, he is lovely. He’s harmless - he just needs a sale.”

Harry led Niall toward a shiny, flawless cherry studio piano towards the back of the shop, and Niall put his guitar case on the ground next to it. In Niall’s humble opinion, a piano of such beauty demanded to be placed among the display grand piano of the shop, and he resented Louis a little for his choice of placement, but he supposed he could understand the reasoning that the grand would probably make him more money, assuming it ever sold.

To Niall’s surprise, he looked down to find Harry hugging it. 

“Is a beautiful piano. When I win the lotto, I will buy this piano and sleep with it every night,” Harry said, still embracing the instrument. “So first, we say ‘hello’ to it.”

The brunette removed himself from the piano, looked at it intently, waved, then cheerfully said, “Hello!”

He turned to Niall and raised his eyebrows.

Not for the first time since meeting Harry, Niall briefly questioned if this was all an episode of _Punk’d,_ if there were actually cameras waiting for him to do something stupid. Maybe this whole thing was a sick prank orchestrated by Eoghan and Bressie. He brushed away the thought, then decided, what the hell.

“How’s it goin’?” Niall directed at the piano.

Harry frowned. “This is serious, Niall. You must always say hello to the piano.”

“Alright, alright,” Niall replied. He leaned into the piano again. “Hello.”

Harry sat at the bench and stretched out his hands. “What shall I play for you today, Irishman?”

“Whatever you like,” said the blonde.

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned his focus onto the piano. He closed his eyes for a second, as if he were trying remembering everything he had ever learned, then began to play a little bit of Mendelssohn. His fingers moved masterfully across the keys, Harry himself appearing to find joy in the sounds. When he thought he had gotten through enough of the composition, he closed it out and smiled to himself.

A silence hung between Niall and Harry.

Niall cleared his throat. “Did you write that?” he asked.

“No, Felix Mendelssohn did,” Harry exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath. 

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Niall nodded.

“He’s a romantic.”

“But dead, right?”

“A completely dead romantic,” Harry replied. He paused, then looked at Niall, that cheerful expression lighting up his face again. “Now you, play me a song!”

Niall frowned. He hadn’t quite given up on music after yesterday, but he was still apprehensive.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said quietly.

Harry was having none of it. “Oh, please! You play or not play. You are the one who offered this morning.”

“I’m just...I don’t really know where my music is going to take me anymore,” Niall said, his voice still soft.

“It has made you no money - you want to be famous?” Harry questioned, raising the pitch of his voice along with his eyebrows.

The blonde’s shoulders slumped. “You want to play your songs to people who will listen!”

“I am people! I want to listen! Play me a song!” Harry said petulantly.

Niall sighed. “Come on. I should just go home,” he said. He turned to leave the shop but Harry was quick to come after him.

“Niall! Niall, please!” Harry grabbed onto Niall’s messenger bag, but underestimating his strength, he pulled it too hard, the strap detaching from its hook on the bag. The contents spilled out. Of all the things that fell from the bag - a phone charger, some cough drops, old Nando’s wrappers - Harry was most interested in the stack of sheet music, which Niall could infer by the way the brunette ignored everything else.

“You write notes, too!” he practically squealed. “You are like Mendelssohn - only alive - and Irish!”

“Yes, can I have them back please?!” Annoyed, Niall made a move to grab them out of Harry’s hands, but the taller man was already walking back to the piano with them.

“Ah, but you do not even care for your music,” Harry said with a snark that Niall hadn’t yet seen from him, let alone expected, taking his place at the bench again.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the blonde cursed. Unsure of what to do next, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, staring at his feet and the mess of his broken bag below.

Hands in his pockets again, Niall waited. And then, Harry was playing again, except this time Niall recognized the opening chords to the tune as his own. 

He listened. And then, Harry stopped. Again, Niall waited.

“Breathe,” Harry said softly from the piano. “Are you breathing?”

Niall exhaled. He hadn’t even realized he hadn’t been breathing in the thirty seconds Harry had started playing, and he didn’t lift his eyes from the ground.

“I am,” Niall said. Harry’s eyebrows raised slightly like he knew better but didn’t push further.

“You know, you will not die if you play this song with me,” Harry stated firmly but gently. He waited again, and more softly, “Please.”

Harry began to play again, and instead of shutting down, Niall began to sing. 

“ _I don’t know you, but I want you, all the more for that_ ,” he crooned.

Harry joined in with the harmony, “ _Words fall through me, and always fool me, and I can’t react_.”

The brunette didn’t continue, instead playing the last two notes over and over again with his right hand, and taking his left, pointed at Niall’s guitar and motioned for him to pick it up. Niall, not wanting to let Harry have that little victory, didn’t move. Harry kept pointing in perfect 4/4 time.

Niall sighed, but opened his case and took out his guitar. Slinging it around his neck, he began to play, the meshing of the sounds of the piano and the guitar coming together seamlessly as he and Harry sang. 

Harry’s voice was like honey, it was thick but it was strong in its own way without overpowering Niall or the accompaniment. Niall sang with emotion and rawness; and Harry could see the blonde’s nervousness and anxiety slowly slip away as he lost himself in the music.

“ _Take this sinking boat and point it home_

_We’ve still got time_

_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice_

_You’ve made it now_

_Falling slowly, eyes that know me,_

_And I can’t go back_

_Moods that take me and erase me_

_And I’m painted black_.”

As the song built, Niall moved closer and closer to the piano rather than let himself stay distant from Harry. Their eyes met as they sang together, and although it was only two of them in the shop, it felt like an entire orchestra had come to breathe more life into the sounds they were playing.

Toward the end of the song, Harry stopped himself slowly but kept playing. He wanted to hear Niall, he wanted to see him in his comfort zone with just himself and no one else singing along. Niall may not have been sure about music, but Harry knew that this had to be a passion of his. The proof was right in front of him.

“ _Take it all. I played the cards too late. Now it’s gone_ ,” Niall closed.

The music faded away. Harry’s head was down, staring blankly at the keys of the piano. Niall’s eyes were still closed. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. It was as if the song had exhausted him emotionally.

Finally, Harry spoke, “So where is she?”

Niall snapped back to reality. “Where’s who?”

“The girl in the song - is she dead?” Harry asked, eyes wide again as if his question wouldn’t normally be considered inappropriate.

“Christ!” Niall cursed in awed disbelief. “It’s a he, actually, and no! He’s not dead.”

“So you still love him, then?” Harry continued, completely disregarding Niall’s clear discomfort with the topic at hand.

“No, we’re finished,” Niall replied shortly.

Harry leaned onto the piano, resting his elbow on its wooden ledge, chin in his hand, careful not to disturb the price card. “No one who writes this song is finished,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Well, it’s an old song,” Niall lied, hoping Harry couldn’t tell. Frustrated, he kneeled to put his guitar back into its case and close it up.

“Your heart is not finished - I hear in your voice. You sing this song to him and you will get him back,” Harry suggested, still ignoring Niall’s growing agitation.

“Maybe I don’t want him back,” the blonde said sharply, stepping over the guitar case and turning away from Harry. He felt a pang in his chest and hoped that turning around could hide the pain Niall wasn’t sure he could keep hiding.

Harry began to get up from the piano, continuing to press the topic further even though Niall had very clearly turned around. “Maybe you are frightened to sing with such a big love?”

“Maybe I’m not bothered anymore.” Another lie straight through Niall’s teeth. 

Harry opened his mouth to speak then reconsidered, afraid of the Irishman’s reaction. But after a short silence, he decided to say it anyway. “But maybe you should be bothered,” he said.

Niall turned to face Harry, his face now tired. “Right...well. Maybe we should just go home,” he sighed, and began to gather up his things - his guitar and the items that had fallen out of his bag earlier. 

Relieved, Harry moved to help him clean up the mess.

*****

The next thing Harry knew, he was sitting next to Niall on the edge of his bed back at the North Strand, an old demo from years back of Niall’s playing in the background.

The two of them had gone straight up to Niall’s room, Bobby had gone out into town after closing up shop and left some food for Niall. 

“So this is your room?” Harry asked, looking around. The room was relatively small, with dark, cerulean walls with some Polaroids and posters of The Eagles taped onto them. Niall’s bed, dressed in soft gray sheets and a matching duvet, was surprisingly well-sized for a room that small, and Harry vaguely wondered how Niall and Bobby had managed to fit the mattress through the door when they first moved in. In front of the bed stood an unfinished wooden chest of drawers and a white acrylic full-body mirror. To the left of the bed was a matching wooden nightstand with a black desk lamp and a medium-sized silver boombox that had to be at least a decade old. To the right was an equally unremarkable black metal desk covered in sheet music and bills. It was simple, nothing impressive, but it had the essentials.

“It’s pretty sad, isn’t it?” Niall remarked, not expecting a reply, only speaking to fill the space in the room.

“Yes,” replied Harry honestly and nonchalantly, even though Niall’s question had been rhetorical. Niall frowned, slightly taken aback at his comment, but said nothing. “So you record all your music here?”

Niall looked down at his hands, neatly folded in his lap. “Yeah....I got an old four-track and some other things, but I might sell ‘em.”

Harry made a small sound, unintelligible to Niall. It frustrated Harry slightly - if not more so - that Niall kept talking about giving up music when he knew for sure that he didn’t really want to. To him, music was always worth something no matter the skill level or talent, even if it wasn’t very good, there was value. And Niall was definitely good. He couldn’t fathom how he could just...stop.

The last of Niall’s demo faded out, and Harry decided that upon hearing more of what Niall was capable of - putting emotion and metaphors into beautiful melodies - his mission would be to help this beautiful Irish musician out. Harry didn’t have all that much to do in his spare time, and he very much liked this new friend. He figured that since meeting Niall two days ago, the grace of God had certainly been with him. Everything happened for a reason, he was sure of it.

“Nice song,” Harry complimented.

“Thanks,” said Niall, ducking his head a little.

Out of seemingly nowhere, the four-track continued to play something else.

“It’s really nice, babe,” a man’s voice said. It was soft and smoky, and Harry recognized the accent as British.

“You really like it?” said Niall’s voice from the speaker, clear as day to Harry. 

Niall sprung from his spot on the bed to turn it off. “Right, that’s it!”

Meanwhile, Harry’s eyes went wide like little green moons. “Is that him!?! Leave it, I want to hear him!” he all but yelled, tugging onto Niall’s jacket to stop him. Niall was surprised by his strength (again) as he stumbled backward onto the bed with a yelp.

“Look, tell me straight - I won’t mind, Zayn, I promise - you think it’s all right?” The recorded Niall asked. The Niall next to Harry began fidgeting and biting his nails.

 _Zayn,_ Harry thought to himself, testing the name around his mouth and his mind. 

“It’s beautiful,” Zayn said. He was genuine, Harry could tell.

“Honestly?” the recorded Niall asked.

“You’re beautiful, Nialler.”

The Niall on the recording snorted. “Yeah.”

“Lie down, come on, love. Take your guitar off,” Zayn said. There was the sound of rustling and giggling and small laughs.

“Fuck, I think we’re still recording this,” said Niall on the recording.

“Leave it on!” Zayn said through a laugh. _How funny,_ Harry thought. He had been saying the same thing to Niall not even a minute ago. There was the sound of more rustling and movement, and a mattress squeaking slightly with pressure. “Let’s make our own single!”

The sound of wet lips on skin came through along with a quiet moan came slightly over the four-track. The Niall sitting next to Harry felt exposed. The recorded Niall spoke again. “Single my ass! Let’s make a whole fuckin’ album!” 

There was the sound of soft laughter and more rustling, and the four-track finally shut off.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Niall said next to Harry. He had bitten his nails into oblivion within the thirty seconds of the recording and his face was tomato red. His eyes were down, focused on a single spot of dust on his bedroom floor.

Everything was silent. Harry didn’t want to say anything just yet, as fascinating as he’d found that glimpse into Niall’s past, he was sure he was extremely embarrassed. When the silence got to be too much and the heat in Niall’s face began to cool down, Harry spoke.

“So when did he go?” he asked.

Niall sighed. “Six months ago,” he said.

“And where?”

“To New York. Nothin’ really left for him here…”

“Just you.”

“Yeah.”

“And your music.”

The blonde avoided that part. “I speak to him on the phone sometimes,” he said, still looking at the ground.

Harry turned his head to look at Niall slightly. “And how is he?”

“Oh he was lonely at the start, I think,” Niall said. Harry knew Niall didn’t owe him an explanation, but there was no going back now. “He’s met someone new now, though, a girl.”

“Why don’t you kill her?” asked Harry, now facing Niall completely. Niall’s arms were crossed.

Niall snorted, but at least he was smiling. “Kill her, of course.”

“I can help you,” Harry said sincerely. “I can get gun from this man.”

“What, seriously?” Niall asked.

“Of course I am serious, I am French,” Harry deadpanned.

“Well, shit,” Niall said. He was now staring directly at Harry, seeming to have lost his shame after the Frenchman suggested actually murdering Zayn’s new...whatever she was.

Harry continued. “She is just a passing girl for him, I can tell. You should go to New York - you are living in a little boy’s room.”

Niall seemed to brush off the suggestion, and the brunette could sort of understand it. Harry had to be bullshitting him, there was no fucking way he could possibly do that. With peaceful endings like Niall and Zayn’s, it felt like a silent explosion. Harry knew that feeling well. Sure, a broken couple in question could keep in touch over the phone and through Facebook, but their conversations would gradually become less and less frequent and more and more tense as time went on.

Harry watched Niall as he took a moment to carefully think about his response to the Frenchman’s admittedly outrageous suggestion. “My da needs the help,” he said finally.

Harry frowned. “You are going to stay here? Fixing Hoovers and living over a shop forever?!?”

Harry didn’t always consider himself a romantic person, but moving to be with the love of your life seemed like the only rational option in this situation. It baffled him that Niall wouldn’t want that happy ending. Besides, Niall was attractive, there didn’t seem to be any way that Zayn couldn’t take him back.

“Well, not ‘forever’….”

“Go to New York, find your girl, sing your songs to people!” Harry was almost shouting now. “Is that not what you have been wanting?”

“Just like that?!” Niall was getting red again, only this time from frustration and annoyance. But Harry was relentless.

“Why not?” the Frenchman challenged.

“I could barely afford the ticket even if I wanted to go all that way and stalk a man who’s getting on fine without me! Of course I’ve thought about going after him - Zayn himself made an offer for me - but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.” He had stood up now, letting all the feelings he’d had pour out. Harry watched as pain and hurt filled Niall. “And the music?! No one wants to hear it! It’s easier to walk away from it!”

He was shaking, he realized, breathing hard. Niall was standing; towering over Harry - who himself was rather tall - and they were looking at each other with an intensity and ferocity that made Niall’s cheeks burn hotter.

Harry stood up then, still facing Niall, whose blue eyes were wide and whose fists had balled at his sides. Harry looked at him again.

“I won’t allow you to do that,” he said sternly. His own boldness surprised him.

“And why is that?” Niall spit. Silence. It seemed to be a common part of their conversations together.

Harry still stared, his green eyes boring a hole into Niall’s head. He was quieter now. It was now or never. “Because you are good.”

Niall’s eyes finally tore themselves from Harry’s and they flicked to his lips, then back to his eyes. He gaped at Harry, and against all his better judgment, Harry stepped a little closer.

“Can you make me a CD so I can listen to more of your songs?” Harry asked, tilting his head a bit. There wasn’t a lot of space between them, and Niall could feel his breath against his skin as he spoke.

“If you want, yeah,” Niall breathed, still looking at Harry’s pink lips. He toed a little closer to Harry. Harry wondered if Niall could hear him inhale, and if Niall could see his thoughts and how desperately he didn’t want this to go bad.

To Harry’s own shock, Niall leaned in and closed the gap between them first. He kissed softly, but with a fervor that he wasn’t quite expecting from himself, and his left hand snaked around Niall’s waist, landing on the small of his back and pushing them closer to each other. Niall brought his right hand to Harry’s face.

When Harry pulled away, he was surprised to find himself wanting more. The blonde’s eyes shone with desire in the low light of the room.

“We can meet tomorrow again and talk maybe? I have to go,” Harry said, his hand still around Niall, their foreheads and noses lightly touching, but desperately looking for some sense to cling onto.

Niall looked disappointed. And not the kind of disappointment in being blue-balled - Harry saw that it was much more. Harry couldn’t just leave after that. Niall simply whispered, “Stay.”

Harry let his arm go, remembering his duties at home. “Niall,” he said quietly, looking down.

“Harry, please stay the night,” Niall said. 

The Frenchman was turned away from him, the way he had been the night before on the couch. He scrolled through his phone again.

“And ‘make a whole album?’” Harry asked, although there was no bitterness or resentment in his voice.

Niall seemed to know it was fragile ground, but he decided to continue the joke anyway. “Or maybe just a few singles,” he said, smiling.

Harry turned back around, a soft smile playing at the edges of his lips. He was still a little hesitant considering his responsibilities, but he decided tonight was one he couldn’t waste. He’d spent so long denying himself simple pleasures over the last few months, and he was getting a little tired of it. “Let me just text my...flatmates that I will be gone for the night,” he said, typing something out into his phone.

As soon as Harry set his phone down on Niall’s dresser, Niall was on him, tugging at the lapels of the Frenchman’s stupid printed shirt and kissing him, moving from his neck, his jawline, to his lips. Niall hastily unbuttoned the shirt as Harry opened his mouth slightly to make room for him. He grabbed onto Niall’s hips and edged him back toward the dark blue sheets of Niall’s bed. Harry didn’t hesitate to move his hands from Niall’s hips to the fly of his jeans as Niall practically tore Harry’s shirt off, moving his lips over the dark swallows and lettering that littered his chest and collarbones.

“ _Oh, merde,”_ Harry breathed, as Niall tossed his own t-shirt off and sucked a bruise into Harry’s pale, untouched neck.

In no time, nothing was separating them except their pants, jeans finally peeled off. Niall had switched gears and pushed Harry onto his bed first, and Harry looked at the blonde with pure, unadulterated lust as Niall sank onto his knees on the floor before him, taking Harry’s boxers down agonizingly slowly. The brunette’s mind was running wild. As he kissed along the inked moth on Harry’s stomach, rushed, Niall rummaged through his bedside table before finding a rubber and some lube before continuing.

Harry could only stare as Niall began to tease him with his tongue, and on instinct he brought a hand to his cheek, and then tangled his fingers in his box blonde hair, his dark brown roots beginning to show through as he went, up and down.

“ _Merde, mon Dieu,”_ Harry swore once more, beads of sweat forming at his temples. He had abandoned English entirely at this point, lost the ability to form the words as Niall did wonders with his mouth. 

It was clear there was no going back now for either of them. The evening turned into late night as they shared skin and sweat and lust and pleasure. It didn’t matter where any of this was going to go, the secrets and silences and unspoken words meant nothing. For the first time in the three months he’d been away from home, Harry felt wanted, felt his life light up as he let himself stray from his usual routine. 

He pushed away the pangs of guilt that burst inside his chest with every thrust of Niall’s hips into him, figuring he’d tell the blonde everything he held inside him one day - just not today.

*****

Sunlight spilled through the bedroom window, burning Niall’s eyes open against his will and making his cerulean bedroom look almost teal. Almost. He turned away from the window in an attempt to go back to sleep, and he was surprised for just a second to see a mop of brunette curls facing him, peacefully curled up into Niall’s pillow and snoring softly.

Niall had gotten so damn lucky the night before. He rather liked Harry, he realized, and after their argument last night, it hit Niall that Harry coming into his life could be a fresh turn for the better after the fucked up mess that was his life for the past year. It would be unwise to push Harry away, but now that he thought about it, it might have been a little unwise to move so fast with him so soon. It really had only been two days and all. 

“ _Bon matin,”_ Harry said from beside Niall, his voice rough with sleep. He was still curled into his pillow and he was looking at Niall with heavy-lidded eyes and a crooked smile that Niall just wanted to kiss for the rest of the morning.

“What does that mean?” Niall asked, scooting a little closer to Harry.

“It means, ‘good morning,’” said Harry through a yawn. He reached over and placed his hand on Niall’s neck, now covered in little berry-colored bruises. “What time is it?”

The blonde turned to look at his shitty old alarm clock. “Mmm...it’s only seven forty-five, pet.”

Before he could even turn his head back to him, Harry had darted up and out of Niall’s bed, putting his clothes from the night before back on hurriedly.

“Wha - where are ya going?” Niall asked.

“I must get to work,” Harry said, struggling with his skinny jeans, brow furrowed. “My shift starts at nine, and I still need to catch a bus back to Fleet Street.”

Niall sat up, his sheets draped around his waist and legs. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror across the room, he could see the marks Harry had left and how his hair was sticking up every which way. It was satisfying. “Wait,” he said. The brunette looked up from his phone. “I’m going to be there later today, can I see ya? We could get somethin’ small to eat?”

Harry walked over to where Niall was sitting on the bed and placing his hand on Niall’s cheek softly, planted a chaste kiss on his lips. Niall decided he wanted more of that in the future and whined shamelessly when Harry removed his hand. 

“Tommo’s Place during my lunch break?” Harry asked.

“Where else?” Niall smiled. The Frenchman beamed.   
  


*****

  
  
The September evening was closing in slowly as Niall and Harry walked from the Navan Road bus stop. The sky was gradually turning from soft orange to light purple, and the glow of the sunset washed over the two only slightly.

“Thank you for walking me home,” Harry said, shifting his gaze from the sidewalk in front of him to the blonde.

“Reckon if I didn’t Louis would’ve sliced me to pieces - just lookin’ after myself, really,” Niall replied, as nonchalantly as he could.

Harry smiled and looked down. He inhaled the crisp autumn air. “About last night…” he began.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Niall said quickly. “I know it was a lot at once so if it’s too much to think about right now…” he trailed off. The night before had been amazing. And he wanted more of Harry. But for now he wasn’t quite ready for the pillow talk - or in this case, sidewalk talk - and there were other priorities to attend to.

“Oh. Yes of course,” Harry replied. The two of them were silent again as they walked, and Harry hoped his disappointment wasn’t obvious on his face. He let it go.

“Oh, hey,” Niall said, rummaging through his messenger bag. Finally, he found a CD in a cheap jewel case. “I burnt ya some songs.”

He handed the case to Harry earnestly. “The quality isn’t all that but...well if you ever fancy listening since you asked for a CD…,” Niall continued.

“I will,” Harry said, stopping in front of a house. “I want to.”

Harry was looking at Niall in that _way_ again, the one where everything was still and the green eyes were shining, sparkling even, topped off by a soft, barely there smile. It made Niall’s head spin a little. It was another one of those little silences where Niall didn’t know what to say but for some reason it felt like Harry was saying so much.

“Thanks for bein’ interested, by the way,” Niall said.

“Sure,” said Harry, and he took Niall’s hand in his. The brunette couldn’t help staring sometimes, and it didn’t help that the sunset made Niall’s blonde hair look like it was absorbing the sky’s colors. It didn’t seem like Harry was going to move anytime soon, and it finally occurred to Niall that this was probably Harry’s home, and he would have to leave the Frenchman and catch a bus home. And well….he really didn’t want to go home.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” Harry asked, breaking Niall out of his reverie. 

Niall didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

*****  
  


Niall had walked into a madhouse. 

In one corner of the flat, two young men and a young woman were arguing and yelling while watching telly. They all sat on a couch that looked rattier and dirtier than Eoghan’s apartment from when they were still in university, every now and then getting up to scream or climb over the rest of the furniture to get in each other’s faces.

At what Niall perceived to be their kitchen table, an older woman with ponytailed brown hair the same color as Harry’s was sitting and filing her nails, seemingly unbothered by all this. The Irishman figured this must be a regular thing.

“She’s a liar! That woman is evil!” yelled one of the guys. He had fluffy dark brown, almost black hair and was wearing a gray t-shirt with black jeans and Converse. Niall noted he had an Australian accent.

“She’s not evil! You’re an idiot!” the woman yelled back. She was very pretty, with perfectly waved, dark brown hair cropped at her shoulders and neat makeup. Wearing a lace-up top, skinny jeans, and ankle boots, Niall figured she couldn’t be that much older than him and Harry. She was very clearly British, like a certain someone Niall used to know.

Harry looked at Niall amidst all the chaos happening around them. “These are my flatmates,” he said casually.

“You all live here?” Niall asked, bewildered.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “Well, they actually live across the hall, but they come over often. It’s very cosy.”

In front of them, the craziness continued without regard for their presence. “How can Max lie in the same bed as that witch?!?” The dark haired guy continued. “The deceit, my God!!”

It was the brunette woman’s turn to stand up and yell now. “You don’t understand. Don’t you live in the real world? This is the real world, Calum!!” she shouted. For a second Niall thought she was going to rip Calum to shreds.

“Is everything okay?” Niall asked Harry, who still looked concerningly casual.

“They’re talking about _Love Island,_ ” the Frenchman explained.

“The reality show?!?”

“Yes. Only my _mère_ and I have a TV in our flat, so when it comes on, we let them in so they can watch. It is their passion.”

“But Cally is changing,” said the other guy, also Australian apparently. He had golden brown curly hair, and was wearing a Ramones tee with blue skinny jeans. He seemed like the type who constantly had girls swooning, his looks were to kill for, Niall couldn’t help but note. “Can you see what Cally is doing with her looks?”

Calum ignored him, continuing with his tirade against the young woman. “Cally promised, Eleanor! She swore on her life that she’d stay with him until they both got voted off.”

“Max is a worm,” Eleanor replied.

“Max is a man who just wants love! He’s doing his fucking best to be a good man!”

“But she’s making herself more attractive the more aggressive she gets. Have you noticed that? It’s very clever,” the Ramones shirt-wearing flatmate chimed in.

Eleanor and Calum turned their angry eye contact away from each other and pointed it collectively at the other young man, their anger now mixed with confusion and disgust. 

“You think she’s more attractive, Ashton?” Calum challenged.

“Definitely.”

“Her lying and games are turning you on?!” said Calum.

“Cally is a ride.”

“You’re a perv,” Eleanor spit.

“Okay, I really wouldn’t go _that_ far,” said Ashton, scowling, still seated on the couch.

The three of them seemed exhausted by their argument, as if it really had taken a lot out of them. Niall believed it. Suddenly, they seemed to remember that other people lived in the flat, and noticed that there was someone new.

“Who are you?” Calum said to Niall, noticing him from the couch.

“No one,” Niall blurted, and Calum seemed satisfied with that.

Eleanor perked up at once, making her way to Harry’s side in an instant. “Where’d you pick him up?” she asked Harry.

“The street,” Harry replied, again too casual for Niall’s current level of discomfort.

“Is he single?”

“Leave him alone, Eleanor,” said Harry. He was stern but he was also smiling like this was something she did on the daily.

The girl sighed in joking annoyance. “Fine, but you already know the other boys in the pre-law course are dicks, so help a girl out, Frenchie!” she said as she walked to the kitchen for some tea, laughing as she went.

Meanwhile, Niall had been standing with his hands in his pockets the entire time, As if he sensed the awkwardness, Harry looped his hand around Niall’s waist and pulled them into the kitchen behind Eleanor, toward the woman sat at the table.

“This is my mother, Anne,” said Harry. The woman got up from her spot at the table and gave Niall a scrutinizing once-over. 

“ _C'est le garçon dont vous parlez_?” she said to Harry. _This is the boy you are talking about?_

“ _Oui, Maman_ ,” said Harry.

“ _J_ _uste un ami?” Just a friend?_

“ _Oui,”_ Harry insisted.

“ _Et mon cul c’est du poulet.” And my ass is made of chicken._

Harry blushed and gaped at her, clearly taken aback. Paying her son no attention, Anne continued to examine Niall, and placing her hands on his shoulders, she examined his face, too. It was as if she were trying to get a look at every nook and cranny of Niall’s body.

When she was finished, she looked him dead in the eye. “ _Tu mangeras?!_ ” she said, and let go of him.

Bewildered, Niall leaned into Harry. “What does that mean?”

“It means, ‘eat,’” Harry explained.

“She wants to eat me?!”

“You eat my food, yes?” Anne said, and oh, Niall didn’t realize she could speak English.

“‘Eat your food?’” Niall said, eyes wide. “Excellent!”

As he made moves to take a seat at the kitchen, Niall felt a small tug on his jumper behind him. To his surprise, a little girl with hair the color of warm honey and familiar bright green eyes in pajamas was staring up at him. She couldn’t have been older than three or four.

“This is my daughter Darcy,” said Harry, breaking the silent tension between the girl and the Irishman.

Niall was shocked; Harry hadn’t mentioned that he had a kid. Then again, they’d known each other a grand total of three days so there really wasn’t much to know. Guilt slowly dawned on Niall when he realized his daughter was probably the reason Harry had to get home the night before and that his stupid lust had practically begged the Frenchman to stay the night. Despite all that, he figured he’d make the most of it.

“Hello there,” Niall said, holding out his hand for Darcy. She said nothing, but she took his hand in her tiny one and shook it like an expert businessman, never once losing the intensity in her eyes. Niall and his business degree were impressed. 

“ _C’est Niall,_ ” Harry said to Darcy, squatting to meet her at eye level. “ _Il est l’ami de papa._ ”

Darcy wrapped her small arms around her father in response but turned to stare at Niall with those big green eyes again. Niall couldn’t help but feel like he was being judged very thoroughly under her gaze, but snapped out of it when he realized he was overthinking a toddler.

“Do you speak English to her?” the Irishman asked, hoping it wouldn’t come off rude. Sure, he’d snapped at Harry plenty of times over the three days they’d known each other, but he wanted to be on his best behavior in front of Anne and Darcy. And Harry’s weird flatmates too, he supposed.

“I do sometimes, but mostly that’s what Calum, Ashton, and Eleanor are for,” Harry replied nonchalantly.

“ _Viens, manger!_ ” Anne called from the kitchen table. _Come, eat!_

“ _Qu'est-ce qu'on mange?_ ” _What are we eating?_ Harry asked his mother excitedly, and for a second Niall could picture a young Harry running up to Anne after a long day of play.

“ _Des caillous, Henri,_ ” _Pebbles, Henri,_ she deadpanned, but a tiny smirk played at her lips. Harry’s cheeks again flushed in embarrassment.

Calum, Ashton, and Eleanor must have been used to this call to eat, since they gathered in the kitchen to help Anne set the table and took their respective seats. Anne motioned for Darcy to come to her, and the girl followed.

Harry, Anne, Darcy and Niall sat in relative silence eating Anne’s roast chicken breast and carrots and potatoes as Calum, Ashton and Eleanor continued their bickering over _Love Island_ as the programme continued playing on the TV. Niall watched as Harry cut the chicken into small pieces for Darcy and helped her eat as she sat on his lap. It was incredibly endearing, but being in the situation that he was in at that moment, few thoughts except questions were running through his head. 

As the programme finished up, so did the flat’s guests with their food, and like clockwork, they put the dishes away and helped Anne clean up. The matriarch gave instructions and assignments and each person followed without question, discussing the events of that night’s episode. Even little Darcy was helping out, and soon enough, Anne had wrangled the Irishman into cleaning the pots and pans. Harry did the drying, and as exhaustion crept into the kitchen, Ashton, Calum, and Eleanor said their good nights and went back to their respective flats.

Soon enough they were settled down, Harry and Niall sitting with their tea at the kitchen table and Darcy cuddled into Anne’s arms on the couch. 

“ _Henri, le bébé est fatigué_ ,” _The baby is tired,_ said Anne, walking back to the kitchen and handing the little girl over to her father. Darcy’s small arms wrapped themselves around Harry’s neck. “ _Chante une berceuse_.” _Sing a lullaby._

Harry thought for a moment, then spoke. “‘ _Tous les garçons et les filles_?’” he suggested.

“ _Quoi que tu ressens, mon chérie,_ ” Anne replied. _Whatever you feel, darling._

“Right, then,” Harry began. Niall watched curiously from his seat. “ _Voulez-vous une chanson, ma choupette_?” _Do you want a song, my darling?_

Darcy nodded into Harry’s neck in response, too tired to bring her head up any further.

Harry began to sing and his voice immediately grabbed Niall’s attention. After their little duet earlier, the blonde had decided that Harry’s voice was something that he very, very much enjoyed hearing. 

“ _Tous les garçons et les filles de mon âge_

_Se promènent dans la rue deux par deux_

_Tous les garçons et les filles de mon âge_

_bien ce que c'est qu'être heureux_

_Et les yeux dans les yeux_

_Et la main dans la main_

_Ils s'en vont amoureux_

_sans peur du lendemain_

_Oui, mais moi, je vais seule_

_Par les rues, l'âme en peine_

_Oui, mais moi, je vais seule_

_Car personne ne m'aime.”_

The brunette sang, rocking Darcy gently in his lap. Anne took over then, taking Darcy from Harry’s arms as sleep lulled over the girl. She sang along with her son, 

“ _Mes jours, comme mes nuits_

_sont en tous points pareils_

_Sans joies et pleins d'ennuis_

_personne ne murmure_

_je t'aime à mon oreille_

_Comme les garçons et les filles de mon âge_

_connaîtrais-je bientôt ce qu'est l'amour?_

_Comme les garçons et les filles de mon âge_

_je me demande quand viendra le jour_

_Où les yeux dans ses yeux_

_et la main dans sa main_

_J'aurai le cœur heureux_

_sans peur du lendemain.”_

Harry rubbed the back of his daughter as he finished out the song, “ _Le jour où je n'aurai plus du tout l'âme en peine. Le jour où moi aussi j'aurai quelqu'un qui m'aime_.”

Darcy was now fast asleep. Niall was in awe, privileged to witness such a moment between the three Styles’. Anne broke the silence first.

“ _Chanter du fond du cœur, n'est-ce pas?_ ” _Singing from the heart, are you?_ she asked Harry, a smirk playing on her face as she stroked Darcy’s hair. She got up to bring Darcy to her bed, and Harry simply shook his head. 

“ _Ne voudrais-tu pas savoir_?” _Wouldn’t you like to know?_ Harry replied. He got up from his seat and kissed Darcy good night, and Anne walked out to the small side bedroom and closed the door, leaving Niall and Harry left in the kitchen.

*****

In what was almost deja vu, Harry and Niall were again sat at the edge of a bed, this time Harry’s rather small room, listening to music the blonde had hastily burned onto a simple disc in a jewel case. 

“This is just music! Where’s the words!” the Frenchman shouted, unaware of his volume from underneath his thick headphones.

“There are none,” Niall replied softly.

“It’s great! You’ve no words for this?!”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

“WHAT?”

Unlike Harry, it seemed, Niall was acutely aware that there was a toddler and her grandmother sleeping just across the tiny hallway, and that the walls were probably extremely thin. He lifted the headphones off of Harry before he decided to speak again.

“I couldn’t settle on lyrics,” said the Irishman. “You can try some if you fancy it.”

The brunette perked up. “Really?” he asked. The blonde simply nodded. “Okay, then.”

He turned to look at Niall, who said nothing. Like the previous night, they were sharing space, staring at each other. Harry spoke again. “This is romantic. You have a romantic streak.”

“I used to,” the blonde replied, still looking at Harry, examining his features in the dimness of the room.

“When?”

“When I was younger.”

“But now you are an old man,” said Harry sarcastically. Niall dropped his head to laugh at the prospect of such a thing, and Harry couldn’t help but giggle with him.

It was silent again between the two of them, Harry fiddling with the jewel case as if it were a toy.

“So where’s Darcy’s mum?” Niall asked. He knew he might have been about to cross a line when the opportunity to ask the question arose, but with the way the last three days had gone, he figured now was as good a time as ever. Harry winced ever so slightly, although he knew it was bound to come up eventually. He couldn’t avoid reality forever.

“She doesn’t live here,” Harry answered, unsure how much detail he should provide.

Niall paused, but decided to press further. “Why’s that?”

“It’s difficult between us. She’s at home now - she’s on her way to becoming a star in Paris,” the Frenchman said, a hint of sadness, and just a little bitterness, in his voice. He seemed to fade into his own thoughts for a little bit, and Niall felt it’d be best not to push further. The answers would come in their own time, so he switched to a different question.

“What was the song you sang to Darcy earlier?”

Harry furrowed his brow in thought for a bit. “It is called ‘ _Tous les garçons et les filles’_ by Françoise Hardy,” he said. “One of the greatest French artists of the 20th century. My _mère_ and _père_ teach me all about her when I was a child. You don’t know her?”

Niall shook his head. “What’s the song about? What did the words mean?” he asked.

“I think in English the title translates to ‘All the boys and girls,’” Harry explained. “She sings of how the other boys and girls her age are falling in love and getting married and planning for the future. But she is without joy and lonely by herself and she longs to find a true love so she will be happy.”

What a sad song for such a happy tune, Niall thought. Silence fell again as the two men got lost in their thoughts again. The blonde couldn’t help but think how bitterly coincidental it was that he could relate to Françoise Hardy. His Facebook feed was all acquaintances from secondary getting engaged and married and having 50 kids. Even Eoghan had Aoife and Bressie had Roz. Just last year he’d somberly gone to his childhood friend Ellie’s big wedding (they’d given it a hashtag, even - #CasparWinsGould) that pulled out all the stops. Zayn had….whoever she was. And Niall was painfully single.

After some time, Harry spoke again. “Well, thank you for the Hoover. And the songs.”

“Thank you for the company,” Niall said earnestly, standing up to leave. “I really needed it, to be honest.”

“Me too,” replied Harry. Niall hated to admit it but….he didn’t want to leave. But he’d been irresponsible enough with Harry (and himself, if he was getting to be _really_ honest) and crossed enough boundaries. He grabbed his guitar from the ground but remained in his place. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Niall’s eyes lit up then. “Where?” he asked.

“I’ll find you,” said Harry, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. Niall grinned back, and for the first time in a long while, looked forward to the new day. He took his time exiting, and once he heard the sound of the flat’s door closing, Harry found himself still gazing at where the blonde had stood in his doorframe, and - was that longing he felt? He brushed it away.

Harry pulled himself out of his head again to find Anne standing where Niall had been and carrying a groggy-looking Darcy. “ _C'est un homme gentil,_ ” she said softly. _He is a nice man._

“ _Nous sommes juste amis,_ ” said Harry, exasperation building in his chest at the implication of her words. _We’re just friends._

“ _Bien sûr.” Of course._

_“C'est tout.” That’s all._

_“Je vois.” I see._

Harry sighed, and Anne walked over and sat where Niall had been just minutes before. Darcy climbed out of her grandmother’s arms and crawled over to rest her head in Harry’s lap.

“ _Sa vie est arrêtée,_ ” _His life is stopped,_ said Harry, nestling his right arm over his daughter. “ _Mais il a bon cœur._ ” _But he has a good heart._

“ _Et toi? N'êtes-vous pas trop arrêté?_ ” asked Anne. _And you? Are you not stopped as well?_ Harry cringed, though she asked genuinely. “ _Ta femme t'a laissé ici - vous pouvez recommencer.” Your woman left you here - you can start over._

_“Ne dis pas ça—” Don’t say that—_

“ _C’est vrai!” It’s true!_

_“Ce n'est pas si simple, maman!” It’s not that simple, mum!_

Darcy's hand clenched from where it lay on her father’s thigh. Harry felt breathless as his mother looked at the floor, guilt filling his chest knowing that Darcy had been awake for their exchange. He knew she didn’t mean to sound accusatory. But after everything that had happened over the last four years, and with how close he and Anne were, it was hard not to take her words to heart. He knew that she cared for him, and the last thing he wanted for his child was for her to see any more fighting.

“ _Bonne nuit,”_ said Harry, finally. _Good night._

“ _Bonne nuit, chérie,”_ replied Anne. She rose, kissed both Harry and Darcy on the foreheads, and went back to her room.

When the door closed, Harry patted the little girl’s shoulder to get up so he could put her to bed. Fluffing the pillows and tucking the covers around her neck just the way she liked it, Darcy drifted off peacefully next to Harry. Restless as ever, he put the headphones back on, hit ‘play’ on the CD player and closed his eyes. Words flowed through his head with the melodies of Niall’s guitar until finally a lyric settled behind his eyelids, dug out from the depths of his soul.

_I’ll do what you ask me if you let me be free._

*****

Harry remembered Camille.

How could he forget - the embarrassment of crashing into her and causing her _very expensive_ camera to break into pieces when he looked down at his phone for a split second as he sprinted to his Introduction to Greek Mythology class because he was really, really, late, still hasn’t been eclipsed by much else since. 

It was a gorgeous early October afternoon 5 years ago, unseasonably warm for Paris this time of year. And if he hadn’t been sweating because of the combination of the heat and his run, he was definitely sweating in fear now as he climbed off this poor girl and watched anger and shock creep into her cheeks when she saw the crushed metal, glass and plastic of her camera strewn on the pavement. While the body of the camera was, for the most part, still in its original shape, the edges were cracked and chipped and the long detachable lens was completely split in two. The glass was broken, and metal rings of the lens’ structure and wiring were exposed like bones and arteries.

 _Well,_ Harry thought to himself. _I guess I’m not going to make it to class today._

“I am so, so sorry,” Harry began in French. _Je suis vraiment désolé._ He was standing now, looking down at the unsuspecting victim of his own stupidity. This was what he got for hitting the ‘snooze’ button 10 times, and he was filled with guilt and sheer embarrassment. “Let me pay for it, honestly, I’ll make it up to you!”

The girl didn’t look up at Harry, didn’t even seem to acknowledge his presence. She was on her knees, honey blonde hair falling around her head as she tried to gather the shattered pieces of her camera into a somewhat cohesive pile. The skin on her elbows was raw from her fall onto the concrete, red spots of blood beginning to peek out from the gray and white scrapes on her porcelain skin but she didn’t seem to care about anything except her camera.

Harry knelt down to the sidewalk. “Hey, let me help you,” he offered, moving his hands toward the pile of shards the girl had been making but was stopped by the sudden grip of her hand on his wrist.

“I think you’ve done enough,” she said sharply. The girl was looking at Harry now, round, hooded sea-green eyes misty and boring into his soul with a silent rage. She released his hand from her grip and turned away from him swiftly to hide herself as the angry tears began to fall. “You should just go.”

Harry didn’t leave his spot, instead opting to stare at the girl dumbly as she gave up on the sharper and smaller parts of her camera and picked up the body and what was left of the lens. He felt so ashamed. “What kind of camera is it?” he asked her.

The girl stopped and looked up at him, the tears seeming to have subsided a bit. _Oh,_ thought Harry, _she’s kind of cute._ He kicked himself on the inside. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she asked.

“I’m serious, I’ll replace it. What kind of camera is it?”

She scoffed at him and laughed bitterly. “Canon 700D, the lens was a Canon 50 millimeter F-one-point-eight. Take a guess at how much they both cost,” she spat.

“300 euros.”

The girl began to laugh then, throwing her head back, eyes crinkling and tears forming again. It was bitter and a little angry but she seemed to genuinely find Harry’s guess humorous simply because of how wrong he was. Harry shrunk in on himself and stood up, embarrassed and offended. 

“Heyyyy,” he said, long and drawn out. He pouted as other students and pedestrians took their time dodging them in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You are funny, _Bouclé,_ ” the girl said sarcastically. _She really just called me ‘Curly,’_ Harry thought, and pouted a little more. She stood up to meet him eye to eye. She was just a few centimeters shorter than Harry, and he noticed she was wearing a heathered dark grey t-shirt and denim overalls with a beat up pair of black Converse. “This camera was a little over 600 euros. The lens alone was 110. So if you really want to help like you say, then I’m going to need those both in time to complete my class film project by the week after next. _Bonne chance avec ça._ ”

She crossed her arms and leaned back smugly, waiting for Harry to answer. He was quiet for a moment, thinking about how he just barely helped his mother make rent last week and when he last checked his checking account, he had but ten euros left for the week, five of which he intended to use for a meal after class. The brunette had absolutely no financial basis to even consider the prospect of replacing a camera that expensive. 

And yet - “I can dip into my savings and get it to you by then. What’s your info?” Harry asked with a confidence he knew damn well he had no right to have. But the girl was pretty, and he’d fucked up pretty badly - and as his late father had always said, a Styles always paid their debts.

The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise, but she composed herself quickly. “Alright, then. My name is Camille,” she stated. “Camille Pourcheresse. Here, I’ll give you my number.”

 _Camille,_ thought Harry. _That’s a beautiful name._ Harry pulled a notebook and pen out of his backpack and handed it to Camille and she wrote out her contact information, and the name and model of her camera and lens. “ _Je m'appelle Henri_ ,” he said as she wrote.

“Well then, Henri, I expect to hear from you soon then,” said Camille, handing the notebook back to Harry with utmost professionalism. Harry took it and smiled at her, adjusting the navy blue bandana wrapped around his mahogany hair hoping it would hide how uncertain he actually was about replacing her camera. “But you are not forgiven until I see the camera in my hands.”

He felt sweat bead at his forehead and in his armpits again as she spoke, but he ignored it. Camille took one last look at Harry, then turned on her heel and walked away.

And if Harry kept his gaze on her just a little longer as she went her way, well then, that was his business.

Now he just had to figure out where the hell he was going to find 700 euros.

*****

A week later, Harry stood at the counter at Objectif Bastille, a camera store on Rue Jules César, waiting for the sales attendant to retrieve the brand new Canon 700D and a 50mm f/1.8 lens he’d reserved online. 

He’d wanted to send a message to Camille desperately since getting her number - although it wasn’t for the usual reasons, Harry’s 19-year-old mind couldn’t help but be disappointed at the fact that he was in possession of a beautiful person’s number and wasn’t DOING anything about it. _Get your mind out of the gutter,_ he told himself.

Harry was ashamed to admit it, but he had emailed all his professors to let them know that he wasn’t feeling well the past week - just a change-of-season cold, nothing serious, but he knew it would make him feel terrible all week. He asked for the make-up work and access to the PowerPoint slides and everything.

With his newfound free time, he’d taken up a night job at a local restaurant close to the touristy areas of Paris, and picked up as many extra hours that he could at the bakery he usually worked at during the day. He barely got any sleep this week, but he knew that it was what he had to do. And every time Anne questioned Harry’s lack of sleep and sudden absence at home, he kissed her cheek and told her he had projects to finish at the library.

Anne knew something was up, but didn’t press further - she knew Harry would tell her in due time.

By Friday, Harry’d made about 550 euros in total for the week, and saved some money on food by taking any leftovers from his shift at the bakery for lunch, and from the restaurant for a midnight dinner. He managed to transfer about 200 more from his existing savings, and when he realized he’d had enough, he pranced out of his last shift and smiled to himself as he took the Métro back to his home in Malakoff and had the best sleep of his life.

“A 700D, hmm?” the sales attendant said to Harry, showing him the box and scanning the barcode. “It’s a very powerful camera - are you big on photography or film?”

Harry shook his head and a smile played at his lips. “It’s a gift for someone special.”

Walking out of the shop, Harry pulled out his phone and sent a text to Camille. He was ecstatic, but he wouldn’t admit it.

 **_Harry:_ ** _i have the camera :-)_

He watched nervously as ellipses appeared on his screen, indicating she was typing.

 **_???:_ ** _i think u have the wrong number, sorry_

Harry’s heart dropped.

 **_Camille_ ** _: lol i’m joking it’s camille_

 **_Camille:_ ** _are you free for lunch today? You can give it to me then?_

He’d never agreed to anything so fast in his life. 

An hour later, Harry and Camille were sitting at a small table at Le Vaudésir laughing over spinach quiche, sausage and cabbage, and an afternoon glass of pinot blanc. The shopping bag with the brand new camera was on the seat next to Camille.

“So what is your film project supposed to be about?” Harry asked.

“It’s very vague - you’ll laugh if I say it because it’s so ridiculous,” Camille replied. “My professor is a bit of a nutcase. I honestly don’t even think I’ll pass.”

“Let me hear it.”

Camille straightened up and took a dramatic breath before she opened her mouth again. “He didn’t even give us a prompt or a rubric. All he said was, ‘Create something real.’”

She waited for Harry to laugh, but he didn’t. “I kind of like that assignment actually,” he said. “Definitely better than having to do a million research projects every week about different points in history. It confuses the hell out of me when I’m discussing the Battle of Normandy one week and then the Gulf War the next but also the life and times of Marie Antoinette at the same time.”

“But do you enjoy it?”

“I love it. Learning about the past gives us a glimpse into the future.”

“I love filmmaking. But right now I’m completely stumped with this project,” Camille laughed and took a sip of her wine.

“Well, what is ‘real’ to you?” Harry asked her earnestly.

The girl thought about it for a second, wine glass still in her right hand, slowly swirling the liquid around in the glass. Finally, she spoke again. “I suppose this moment is real. I like to live in the present, I feel like that’s as real as it gets.”

“So why not capture each of these moments that go by, _oui_? Even the most fleeting, random, insignificant ones,” Harry suggested, taking a bite of his sausage and cabbage. “It’s due in a week, right, so maybe just put together a week of everything that’s real.”

Camille placed her glass back on the table as she reached for the shopping bag holding the new camera at her side. She pushed her golden hair behind her ear and made quick work of expertly assembling all the loose parts and attaching the lens as Harry watched in awe from his side of the table. She felt the weight of the body in her hands and moved her fingers around each part - and her expression looked like it was one of pure joy. Turning it on, Camille held the viewfinder up to her eye and pointed it at Harry, who was watching her carefully while still munching on his cabbage. Her left hand moved to the lens, adjusting it for clarity, and her right index finger hovered over the red button meant to record video, then pressed down.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, tilting his head.

“Capturing what’s real,” she said. Harry was suddenly very aware of the beating of his heart.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven, then?”

“ _Peut être_ , _Bouclé._ ” _Maybe, Curly,_ she said, rolling her eyes, recording the way Harry smirked into the lens at her response, fork in his hand. He looked down sheepishly and played with his food.

For the next week, the two of them met every day - sometimes they’d see each other by chance as they passed each other on the way to class, sometimes they’d meet for dosas from the cheap but underrated food cart near the Paris Diderot campus and just talk. And each time, Camille had her new camera in hand, aimed at the lanky, green-eyed boy who turned bandanas into headbands and wore oversized sweaters and flannels and faded jeans and beat up boots. 

The routine they had started was so easy to fall into. As Camille neared the due date of her assignment, Harry began to join her at the library’s computers to study on the late nights she was editing her footage. He’d bring her McDonald’s (she’d mentioned to him that her guilty stress food was a Big Mac with no pickles) and they’d sit together, not a word spoken but soft glances exchanged as she concentrated on stitching together the perfect clip. Harry would reluctantly leave around midnight when he realized he had to catch the last train back to Malakoff or he’d be stranded at the library.

Harry was drifting off into his Greek mythology textbook, pen still in hand, on Friday night when Camille nudged him awake.

“Henri,” she whispered, so as not to disturb the few people who were still there. “Henri, look.”

Harry mumbled something unintelligible and wiped the drool from his cheek as he rose. Camille nudged his arm again. “Henri,” she said. “It is done.”

The brunette composed himself and looked at Camille’s desktop screen. She placed headphones over his ears and pressed play.

Camille had compiled her and Harry’s daily encounters throughout the week starting from the moment she had first put together the Canon at Le Vaudésir and pointed it at Harry. In the background, Kina Grannis crooned “Heart and Mind” and it was intercut with scenes of Camille’s daily view from her classes, walks along the Seine and the Wednesday she and Harry decided to take an evening trip to the Eiffel Tower, lit for the night, and be tourists. At the end of her five-minute film, there was a title card with “ _La Chute_ ” written in thin script font. _The Fall._

When it finished, Harry took the headphones off slowly. His heart was racing and the prickling of sweat he felt around his body the day he and Camille had first crashed into each other was back. He was warm.

Camille was tapping her foot nervously. “So what did you think? I know it’s kind of rough, but you said capture all the little moments and this week felt so real, so I did and it ended up like this?”

“I love it,” Harry breathed. He turned to look at Camille, whose viridian eyes were shining under the tungsten lights of the library. A cocky, lopsided smile teased at the edges of his mouth. “‘The Fall,’ hm?”

A wild blush appeared on Camille’s porcelain cheeks. She gulped. “I might be falling, yeah,” she said softly. “And please stop me if I’m reading this wrong, but it would be great if maybe you’d be there with me.”

Harry felt like he was going to pass out. He was sweating through his jumper, and he could swear his heart was going to jump right out of his throat, but he managed to reach his hand out to Camille’s, the smile on his face growing wider.

“I’ll fall with you as long as you’ll let me.”

They sat there at the library table for a time, smiling at each other like goofy teenagers. It was simple, then. Harry looked away for a second to check the time on his phone and—

“ _Fils de pute_ ,” Harry swore and pulled away, throwing his books and pens back into his backpack haphazardly. The librarian at her desk gave the two of them a dirty look. _“_ I’m going to miss the last train.” 

As he was placing the last of his things back into his bag, he was stopped by Camille grabbing his wrist, reminding Harry of how they’d met last week. “Wait, Henri, you don’t have to rush - I don’t live too far off campus,” she said, looking up at him seriously.

“I-I don’t want to impose, I don’t have extra clothes,” Harry began but Camille stopped him.

“It’s so late and I don’t want you to stress about the train,” she said. “Just stay the night.”

Harry hesitated, but the earnest look in Camille’s eyes changed his mind. “Alright,” he breathed.

They gathered their belongings and Camille took his hand in hers. It was soft, well-manicured, and Harry quite liked the feeling. The Parisian night was alive, and the Seine was well-lit from where they stood at the University. There’d be plenty of people out for a good time while the weather was still good, and the autumn chill was just beginning to nip at Harry’s ears as they left the campus. Camille led the way to the small neighborhood by the campus where plenty of students rented rooms until finally she stopped in front of a building with a rusty gate before the door.

She unlocked the gate, then the door, and brought Harry to her flat. The walls were beige and had a hodgepodge of different furniture styles. The dining table was lopsided, and the cherry stain on the wood was chipping. The decorative tables in the living room were painted baby blue and one of the loveseats was an ugly brown polyester.

“I’m sorry, the flat’s not all that nice - it was all I could afford,” Camille told Harry sheepishly. “I’m hoping once I graduate I’ll get a good job and finally get something nicer.”

Harry laughed then. “Camille, I live with my mother and sister in the same tiny house I grew up in and we can still barely afford rent. It’s honestly great.”

“Here’s my room then, it’s not much but it’s home,” she said, bringing him to a room at the end of the hallway. It was small, with white walls and a curtained door that led to a balcony and fire escape that was in truth, more like a glorified ledge. The full-size mattress topped with white and lime green bedding seemed to just barely fit in the room and laid on an antique brass frame.

Harry placed his backpack on the uneven chair next to Camille’s door. “It’s grand, but I don’t have pajamas.”

“I don’t normally say this but right now I’m okay if you wear your clothes,” Camille half-coughed out, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

They paused for a moment, and then Harry spoke again. “Right then, well, I’ll let you get ready to sleep then,” and walked back into the hall closing the door behind him. He figured he might as well find the washroom and clean his face or something.

When he returned, Camille was in the bed wearing sweatpants and a large t-shirt, hair thrown into a messy bun. Harry kicked off his boots and climbed in, still in his faded black skinny jeans and army green sweater. In a normal situation, he’d hated sleeping in his outdoor clothes. When he’d started university last year, he’d gotten into his fair share of youthful mischief like anyone his age. He’d blacked out at the clubs and woken up on friends’ couches in whatever he was wearing the night before and to Harry, that was more uncomfortable than a hangover. Despite this, Harry was hesitant to take anything off with Camille so soon - when he was riding the high of newfound adult freedom and going home with whoever would have him last year, the routine was always either leaving right after or waking up in a stranger’s bed naked and doing a walk of shame back home. 

He actually cared about Camille quite a lot, and he didn’t want to ruin the chances of something real happening with her.

So Harry pulled the blankets up to his chest while Camille scooched over to make room for his gangly legs. In the dark, Camille’s eyes seemed to shine brighter as she watched the brunette carefully. Once he was settled, Harry turned to her and took her hand, and opened his arm out to her. Camille cuddled into the space with ease and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about how natural it felt to have her there and how beautiful she looked like this.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Camille looked up at him and their eyes met. Placing her hand on his cheek and leaning forward, she pulled Harry in for a kiss that was sweet and innocent. Harry sincerely hoped she couldn’t hear the blood rush that was going through his head or how he was sweating under his jumper. “It’s perfect,” she said finally, pulling away and smiling into the nook between his neck and his shoulder.

The warmth Harry had been feeling earlier when he held Camille’s hand was back again, but this time it was taking over his whole body. It was pleasant, pure, and content. He was comfortable - even with his clothes on - as they fell asleep, legs entangled.

Harry hoped it would last forever.

*****

“Cold War definition?” Harry’s friend Rita asked, looking down at her index cards, feet up on the desk next to her. 

“State of political and military tension after World War II between the Eastern Bloc and Western Bloc,” Harry called back enthusiastically at her from across the study room they’d reserved, munching on the hot and savory dosa he bought for lunch. 

“Good. What’s the difference between communism and capitalism?”

“Communism is structured on common ownership of production and the absence of social class; capitalism is based on private ownership of trade and industry.”

“Good job, Henri. Tell me how the Space Race became a major point of tension between the Soviet Union and the United States.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was tapping away at his iPhone, a goofy smile plastered on his face. Rita looked up from her cards. “Henri?” 

Again, there was no answer. So she tried a new tactic.

“Alright then,” Rita started. “How many dosas did Charles de Gaulle eat to turn into a giant dragon and break the Iron Curtain to reveal the Wizard of Oz?”

“Uhh, the Marshall Plan,” Harry said, eyes still on his phone.

Rita exhaled in frustration, threw her legs over the desk and walked over to where Harry was sitting. “ _Que se passe-t-il, Henri?” What the hell?_ she exclaimed.

Harry dropped his phone and knocked his dosa over, startled by Rita’s sudden presence before him. “What the hell to you, too, you made me drop my food!”

Rita rubbed her temples then crossed her slender arms. “Henri, this exam is tomorrow. I think you can take a few hours away from your girlfriend to at least _try_ for a passing grade,” she stated sternly.

The brunette looked down in shame. “I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “I just can’t stop thinking about Camille.”

Rita barked out a laugh. “ _Oui_ , clearly,” she said. “I know you’re in the honeymoon phase still so why don’t you talk to me about her to get it out of your system so you can focus?”

Harry nodded. Rita had been his first friend at Paris Diderot. It was a match made in humor when they showed up to a department-wide networking event for history students to find that none of the other students wanted to come and they were the only ones surrounded by the ancient professors who didn’t care much for them anyway. So they spent the event sitting at their own table sharing funny cat videos and taking all the free food. She just got him. And Harry was so thankful to have her - she kept him sane.

“Camille’s amazing. She is so talented at her little movies, I think I cry every time she shows me one,” Harry said, just letting the words flow. “She’s kind, she’s funny, her hair is so pretty, and she makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Every time she says anything it’s like it’s the most engaging thing in the world. Every time I see a video on Twitter with a baby in it, I think of Camille and like, what the future might have in store for us."

Rita paused for a moment, mulling his words over. Harry watched her as she stood in thought. “That’s fucking gross,” she said finally. Harry cringed. He knew this was coming. “But it’s cute, and you are definitely in love with her.”

The brunette scoffed. “Come on, Rita, Camille and I have only been together for a couple months,” he rebutted.

Rita gave him another condescending laugh, and picked up her index cards. “How cute that you think the amount of time should dictate how you should or shouldn’t feel about someone,” she stated plainly. “Just let yourself admit it, Henri. Now, can we finally study so we can ace this damn exam?”

*****

Camille was easily one of the most beautiful people Harry had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on, of getting to know. Every day he considered how lucky he was to have her in his life. They had a mutual respect for each other as _people,_ and she seemed to see him exactly as he was. She was a free spirit who followed the wind, and Harry was glad the wind had brought her to him.

For so much of his waking life, Harry felt as if people only ever saw him by the things that happened to him, and the exterior of his life. When he was in school the other kids laughed at his small, humble home on the street corner for years. Harry and his older sister Gemma tried to hide their faces as he walked to school every day. When he was 13 and the economic crisis hit and the Styles parents lost their factory jobs, Harry’s father fell into a deep depression, left a note one night and kissed his family, then didn’t come home. In the morning when the police recovered his body in a gutter with his wrists sliced open, the looks Harry received from his neighbors and classmates were a horrible mix of pity and disgust. When he started working at the _boulangerie_ around the corner once he was old enough to, his peers always remembered him as the poor kid who served them their bread after school. 

But Camille saw Harry for Harry - she saw his heart, she saw his talents, his abilities, his mind. She never defined him by his pain or what he had gone through, only for the person he was choosing to be right now. It was pure love. It was passion. And it was easy. 

They gave everything to each other. When they were in the white and lime green sheets of Camille’s room, the blonde digging her face into Harry’s neck and whispering his name, her arms were wrapped around his neck as she moved her hips, they gave their all. When his head was between her legs and gripping her thighs as she writhed in pleasure and pulled on his curls, it was everything. On the late nights when sleep wouldn’t come, they’d make work of each other when Harry would run his fingers over her nipples and nip at her ears and she’d reach out for his dick until their clothes were gone and they were breathing heavily and exhausted; it was everything they had in that moment.

For the next two years they were inseparable. They worked together in perfect harmony, Harry’s soft and friendly demeanor balanced out by Camille’s rough charm and sardonic nature. They supported each other through every assignment and problem - it was everything Harry had ever hoped for in a relationship and more, and as the days inched closer to graduation, the more his thoughts became consumed with what was next for them. He had visions of a nice house covered in ivy in Le Marais, maybe getting a graduate degree and spending his time doing research at _Bibliothèque nationale de France_ , finally getting his mother out of the working class slump of Malakoff, Camille by his side as she continued films, maybe even finally got her big break. When the time came that they would have “made it,” they’d have a family, a perfect little unit of joy. Everything he’d been working for since the death of his father would come true.

And then in April, just two months before the graduation ceremony, Camille brought Harry news.

“ _Quoi?”_ Harry asked in disbelief. Camille had asked if they could get dinner at Le Vaudésir and had instructed him to sit down before she said anything, and probably for good measure since Harry had gone pale and his vision was beginning to be filled with black spots.

“I’m pregnant, Henri,” Camille said again. She reached out for his hand from where he was sitting. 

“But how? We were so careful,” the brunette said quietly, staring at the uneaten grilled chicken before him.

Camille sighed. “You remember that day last month we went back to mine between class last month and we didn’t have any condoms?”

Harry was silent, but took a large swig of the red wine he’d ordered. Camille insisted on water today when the server made her way to them, and it made sense to Harry now.

“What do you want to do?” he asked finally. His vision seemed to be clearing, so he brought his eyes to Camille’s and squeezed her hand.

“I thought about it,” Camille began, pushing her hair behind her ear nervously. She squeezed Harry’s hand back, rubbing circles into the back of his palm. “And I want to keep the baby. I know that might not be what you want but I’m prepared to do this myself if I have to—”

“Who said that’s not what I want?” Harry interrupted. She gaped at him, surprised at his decision. “I’m here with you through everything, and if you think I’d want to _leave_ you and not be in my child’s life after losing a parent, then you’re crazy.”

A smile spread across Camille’s face. “I love you,” she said, and it was genuine and filled with joy. She squeezed Harry’s hand once more before letting go to eat her beef and potatoes.

They ate in pleasant silence before Harry broke it. “Let’s get married,” he said with an unreasonable amount of confidence that he seemed to be making a habit of.

The blonde looked up suddenly from her meal. “What?” she asked.

“I said, marry me.” Harry undid the chain around his neck that held his mother’s crucifix, his father’s star of David, a paper plane pendant, and pulled off his grandmother’s engagement ring. Knowing Camille wasn’t one for dramatics, he reached over the table and held the ring out to her.

Camille reached her left hand out to Harry, and he slipped it onto her finger. “Yes,” she said, the smile she had on earlier, growing wider than she thought possible.

When they finished their dinner, they ran through the streets of Paris hand in hand, kissing like teenagers every five steps, basking into the new life they had ahead of them. Like all that they did, Harry and Camille would put their everything into it.

*****

Anne and Gemma hadn’t exactly been thrilled about Harry suddenly announcing he was engaged with a pregnant fiancée so close to graduation. Likewise, Camille’s parents René and Darilyn weren’t exactly happy about their daughter suddenly being with child and engaged to the father. The circumstances were less than ideal - being a parent with a newborn as if finding a job after graduation wasn’t hard enough.

Harry and Camille’s family were still apprehensive as the two of them exchanged vows at the _mairie_ or town hall, though they tried their best to be supportive. 

But their attitudes changed nine months later in the delivery room of the maternity hospital when the nurse handed the perfectly healthy baby girl to Camille, still covered in sweat. Harry was holding his wife’s camera and recording as everyone in the room filled with tears upon the sight of this new, tiny human in Camille’s arms. Harry gave the camera to Gemma so he could greet his daughter. Unable to contain himself, Harry cried with Camille, filled with what seemed to be every possible human emotion - joy, love, fear, peace, pride, hope.

“What are you going to name her?” Gemma asked, camera still in hand. She wiped away a tear.

Harry and Camille looked at each other, and he kissed her forehead before Camille answered, “Darcy. Darcy Colette Pourcheresse-Styles.”

In the two years following, Harry was nothing but thankful. While he did have to put off grad school while he took care of Darcy, he was able to find work as an archivist at _Bibliotheque Mazarine_ , appraising and cataloguing the historical documents that came in. Camille pursued her films and worked as an intern at a production company. Both Harry and Camille’s parents were able to help care for Darcy when they could, and their daughter was never without love. Even Rita would come around Malakoff and help out. For what it was worth, in all the ways his life hadn’t gone according to plan, Harry was grateful that he had people he could rely on.

But he noticed that Camille struggled. For all of the ways she loved to go with the flow, working-class motherhood was a rough transition and didn’t line up with her dreams. She loved Darcy with all that she had inside of her. But she wasn’t prepared for the sacrifices she would have to make in her career ambitions to be there for her.

By the time Darcy was old enough to not need breastfeeding, Camille seemed to distance herself. Harry knew she didn’t do it on purpose, but some days it looked like Camille pretended she was single and childless - coming home late from after-work happy hours with coworkers, an over-reliance on everyone else to care for the baby when she had to jet off to a film shoot. There was a growing resentment in the depths of Harry’s soul on days when he’d have to skip out on department meetings or miss a deadline to apply for a Master's program because he couldn’t bear the thought of having to miss Darcy’s milestones. If he could take this break to make sure their daughter had a good life, couldn’t Camille?

“Do you ever think about what Papa did?” Gemma said softly, rocking Darcy in her arms and stroking her tufts of honey blonde hair. Camille had called and said her shoot was running late, and Anne was working an overnight shift at the hospital reception desk, but Harry was so exhausted, and Darcy wouldn’t stop crying and throwing a tantrum and he didn’t know what else to do so he called his sister. And like the godsend she was, she came with not just herself, but her boyfriend Michal as well. 

Harry looked over at her from where he was slumped in the loveseat of their living room, hair tangled with Darcy’s tears and sticking in every direction. “All the time, every day, even when I don’t want to,” he said sullenly, his voice monotone. It had been a rough day and in truth, he really didn’t feel like talking about this, but he knew Gemma never did anything without purpose. 

“He was always too proud for his own good,” said Gemma. There was no judgement, no bitterness in her voice - she said it plain and clear.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. “Too proud and too damn depressed to think about how hard it was going to be for his family in the aftermath,” he replied. “Always talked about paying debts and facing problems head on and then ran away from it all in the end.”

Gemma placed the baby in her crib then, confident that she was finally calm enough to sleep through the night. “Maybe you _should_ run away every now and then,” she said, rubbing her niece’s cheek with her thumb.

“ _Qu'est-ce que tu essayes de dire, Gemma?”_ Harry asked, not moving from his position in the chair. _What are you trying to say?_

Gemma sighed and pushed her newly bleached bob behind her ears. She took a seat at the loveseat across from the one her brother was sitting in. “I’m not going to mince words, Henri,” she began matter-of-factly. “I’m not saying kill yourself like Papa, I’m saying don’t get to that point. Don’t tell me you don’t notice the way your daughter’s mother puts her career over her family. Look at yourself. Maman notices it, Michal and I notice it—”

“My ‘daughter’s mother’ has a name, Gemma,” interrupted Harry, narrowing his eyes at her. “And Camille is not just my ‘daughter’s mother, she is my _wife._ ”

“Yes, well she’s not very good at this whole ‘wife’ thing is she? Made all these promises and she can’t even ‘love’ and ‘cherish’ properly,” the older girl spat. “ _Pour le meilleur ou pour le pire, mon cul._ ” _For better or for worse, my ass._

Harry sat up in his seat to speak, but slunk back down before he could. He wasn’t going to bicker with his sister in front of Darcy. 

“Henri, I know you always think I speak out-of-turn and am incapable of minding my own business but you are my _brother._ And you are the only brother I have,” said Gemma, brown eyes burning holes into Harry. She rose to brew a cup of tea at the stovetop. “Camille would quite literally rather play pretend than face the reality of her life. You don’t deserve this. Darcy doesn’t deserve this. I’m warning you now before it’s too late, and I won’t apologize for it.”

Harry remained silent in his chair, exhaustion and frustration and sadness beginning to claim him for the night. Gemma walked over to him with her mug and placed her hand on his shoulder. _Fuck, when did it get so late?_ Harry thought to himself. _When was Camille coming home?_

“You are so like him, sometimes,” Gemma said softly, nursing her tea and squeezing his shoulder. “But your family doesn’t have to be broken if you get away, Henri. I think sometimes running away is your chance to save it.”

*****

Weekends were always nice. Harry and Camille usually both had them off, they could be in the flat together with Darcy, it was all peachy and good, and the two of them could jump in the sheets and blow some steam when the little girl was fast asleep. It felt normal.

Except today Darcy was throwing another fit - she’d woken up moody and irritated, and everything Harry and Camille did to try and get through to her just made it worse. Harry had seen it enough times in the past few months since Darcy turned two and for the most part, he was learning every day how to handle her tantrums and mood swings and occasionally, the bouts of physical aggression. But Camille looked close to tears as Darcy screamed at her while she tried to give her lunch. 

From his spot in the kitchen as he got to work on dinner, Harry watched as Darcy and Camille went back and forth pushing the plastic kiddie bowl to and from each other. Darcy was a spitting image of her mother, and it shook him for a moment. 

“ _S'il vous plaît, bébé!”_ Camille begged her daughter. _Please, baby!_ “You have to be quiet and eat!”

Darcy, sobbing, smacked the bowl away, spilling the beef stew across the living room floor. Seeing the mess she made, the little girl cried some more.

“ _Enculer,_ come on! _”_ Camille swore loudly, but of course that did nothing to stop Darcy from wailing. She fell back on her legs and hid her face in her palms, defeated.

Harry rushed over to Darcy with paper towels at top speed and lifted her up with one arm with mastery. “Camille, why don’t you just go rest, I’ll take care of it,” he said, his voice steel. “And please, watch your words with Darcy? She’s just a toddler, for God’s sake.”

Camille dropped her hands and glared at the brunette in disbelief as he cooed at Darcy and calmed her down with ease and cleaned up the stew. 

“Where were you when I was putting up with her screaming for four hours?” she demanded.

“I can’t come swooping in every time you get frustrated,” Harry replied. “You need to learn how to handle this too.”

“She’s my daughter, you think I don’t know her?” Camille asked, her voice sharp, tears beginning to escape her viridian eyes.

“You’re not home enough to know her. Every night you come home after she’s gone to bed,” Harry rebutted, his voice rising.

“I _work,_ in case you forgot, Henri! I’m _this_ close to being on the production team with Jacques Audiard.”

“I work too, so what’s your real excuse? Do your coworkers even know you have a child? Do they even know you’re _married_?”

The resentment and anger and exhaustion that was deep inside Harry was bubbling to the surface. Gemma’s warning echoed in his mind as his nostrils flared and he faced Camille head on. The edges of Harry’s vision were blurry until he heard a soft whimper in his shoulder and felt the growing pressure of tiny arms around his neck and he turned his attention back to his daughter, restarting his routine of cooing and snuggling her.

As he sat down at the loveseat with Darcy, the sound of the bedroom door slamming rang out through the flat.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he repeated soft apologies to his daughter in his arms, longing burning in his chest for the days when life was simpler. 

***** _  
_

Harry normally made his decisions on a whim. He didn’t like to think too much, it just wasted time. He didn’t like letting his mind wander too far away into the realm of possibility before diving in. His history degree told him that was a bad habit, a fatal flaw even - a _hamartia_ , they’d call it in Greek. 

He was too proud to think about the consequences. Perhaps that was how he ended up in a fruitless marriage, he thought to himself, laughing to himself at the bitter reality of it all.

He was frustrated. He was angry. Resentful. Bitter. Sad. And after almost three years, Harry was tired. Tired of struggling, tired of waiting, tired of _thinking_ so much. He was tired of Malakoff, he was tired of Paris, tired of all of France - it was suffocating. But even with all of that, he still loved Camille. When Harry went to Anne to discuss, she did the worst thing he could imagine. She validated his fears and emotions and anger, which was unlike most situations with her. And to top it all off, she brought up retiring and maybe even moving out the country. Harry was in disbelief - his world really was turning upside down. His marriage was suffering, his life plans diverted dramatically in less than five years, and now he was sure his mother was going insane.

Of course, that didn’t really matter though. Because like so many of his past choices, Harry didn’t think. He took Anne’s advice and ran with it. 

“Let me get this straight,” Camille began, no emotion on her face. She stood up straight, shoulders back, and her mouth was a straight line. “You want to take a break from...us and move to _Ireland_ of all places and take our daughter and your mother with you. Why not just ask for a divorce, Henri?”

“Divorce is expensive and I see no reason to leave on that note if I still love you. I just want to explore what else is out there for me,” Harry explained to her, taking her hands in his for what seemed like the first time in forever. “You’ll have time to break into the film world for real, you won’t have to worry about us.”

Camille’s face broke then - she crumpled into tears and threw her arms around Harry.

“I’m sorry,” she said through muffled sobs. “I’m so sorry, I never wanted us to be like this. I never meant to cause you and Darcy so much pain. Maybe I’m...maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

Engulfing her in his long arms, Harry finally let himself cry, too. “Maybe we need the time apart. Maybe we can fix it,” he said. “But I hope you know that whatever choices you make when we’re gone, I won’t hold it against you. All I’ve ever wanted for you is to be happy.”

She pulled her face away from his neck, then, tears still streaming down her face. Harry placed his hand on her face and wiped them away. “Please take care of Darcy and Anne while you’re gone? And take care of yourself, too, I know how you can be,” Camille said. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”

Harry kissed the top of Camille’s head and pulled her back into his arms. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone for,” he told her honestly. “But if at any point you want to be out of this completely, give me a call and I’ll come and...settle it.”

The words hurt Harry to say, like he was being forced to drive a knife into Camille’s heart. But was that also a sense of relief he felt? Through the sobbing and the release, for the first time he felt a sliver of hope again. There would be something new waiting for him this time instead of the other way around. It was going to be difficult, adjusting to a new country, all the new possibilities that lay ahead. But it was going to be on his own terms this time. The only thing holding him back was the thread holding his and Camille’s marriage together. The inkling of faith in their wedding promises that remained was in denial, but Harry didn’t want to think about the possibility of it breaking. 

Harry knew it was inevitable. But he mostly didn’t think he could handle thinking that far ahead.

Soon enough, neither Harry nor Camille could bear to stand, and they sunk to the floor of their flat, still holding each other. There was nothing else to say or do, so they did what they could - cried. They grieved the loss of what used to be, the pureness of young love, and the unspoken realization that no matter how much they prayed to God for it, the good old days of reckless abandon were now long gone.

*****

The day after his little visit to the Styles household, Niall was sitting in his room with his guitar, strumming out some chords as he mulled over whether it would be the right time to head back down to Fleet Street. He’d thrown on skinny black jeans and a loose black t-shirt and he had been too lazy to style his bleach-damaged hair so it was laying on his head fluffily, freshly air-dried. Niall figured he only had a little bit of time left for himself before he would catch the bus, so he opened the window to ease the stuffiness off his room and sat by the light to croon at the birds and blow off some of the leftover tension left in his chest from the previous night.

“A few years agoooo, I fell in love with a Bradford boooooyyyyy,” Niall half-sang, half-spoke as he strummed nonsense chords, chuckling to himself. “He took my heart and I thought I’d spend my life with himmmm, but then he left me in Dublin with a broken hearrrrrrt. Ohhhh, I’m a broken-hearted Hoover fixer sucker guy, got a degree and I still live with my daaaaa, broken-hearted Hoover fixer sucker duuuuuude! Maybe I’ll find him and win him again, but ‘til then I’m just a loser of a guy!”

Niall strummed aggressively on the strings repeatedly on a chord that definitely didn’t match the note that he’d ended up singing on, wiggling his shoulders in a mockery of a dance. If Zayn were still around he would have laughed his heart out at Niall’s jolly performance, so Niall supposed he would need to have enough fun for the two of them in the moment. A small piece of Niall’s heart ached as the thought passed him. But this time, it didn’t sour his mood for the rest of his day.

“Hey,” said a voice from behind Niall, bringing him from his reverie.

He turned to see Harry leaning on his door frame, all loose brown curls and a crooked smile and long legs clad in skinny jeans, a white t-shirt and a worn out and ill-fitting brown leather jacket. Harry did say the night before that he’d find Niall. The blonde blushed furiously. 

“Hey,” he replied, placing his guitar down and trying to hide his embarrassment. He really hoped Harry didn’t hear any of his “song.”

“So I listen to all your songs and I have made big decision. Do you want to hear it?” Harry asked with bright, earnest eyes. Niall’s flush began to subside.

“Would love to.”

The brunette stepped inside, his decorated hands in his pockets, and bit his lip, and inhaled before continuing. “You write these songs for your man but now he is gone, these songs make you depressed. But they have heart and soul, and _you_ have heart and soul. These songs, they must be sung for you, for me, for anyone who has lost a love. Don’t be sad - you must sing.”

Niall stared at Harry from the corner of his bed by the window pane. “I know,” he said finally.

Harry’s emerald eyes shone. “You know? I am going to hug you right now.”

“Fair enough,” replied Niall, quirking his head and the next thing he knew, he was being pulled into Harry’s broad frame, engulfed in leather and arms.

Harry pulled his out of the embrace, but kept his hands on Niall’s biceps. “So we are going to make a demonstration tape - me and you - with good musicians - and we send this tape around the whole world and a fat man with a fat cigar will pick you up for his record company and you will go to New York and make something of yourself, okay?!?” He lightly shook Niall as he spoke.

“Okay,” Niall affirmed.

Harry continued, not realizing (or not acknowledging, truthfully) that the blonde had even said a word. “So I speak to a man today in a recording studio and I bash him down in price and we can have his studio for twenty-four hours. One day - two grand!”

Niall’s eyes went wide and he stepped backward. “Where would I find two grand?!” 

He began to disappear into his thoughts. The repair shop downstairs only made enough per month to break even and pay for the Horan family’s necessities. Niall definitely didn’t want to bother Greg for money - it would only hurt his pride as the “lesser” brother, and he had an actual life to support. Harry snapped him out of it.

“My mother borrow money from the small loans man at the bank and this man is a nice and good man. My mother pay this man back so we are in the good books.”

“Alright,” Niall breathed, his anxiety beginning to ease up a little - but only a little. He had a business degree, he knew he had to think about the return on investment - assuming they even got approved for the loan - and he doubted his talents would take him that far. Niall pushed the thoughts out of his head.

“Now, you dress like a tramp,” Harry started, and walked back out into the corridor of the flat. Niall frowned - did he really dress like a tramp? The Frenchman walked back in with a shiny navy blue suit in a garment bag. “Take your clothes off!”

On command, the Irishman began to take off his t-shirt and pull down his jeans. Suddenly realizing how stylish the suit looked, he asked, “Did you buy that?!”

Harry chuckled. “It is Calum’s. It is a nice Australian wool suit. His lucky interview suit, he says. A suit to impress the bank man,” he explained cheerily.

“Well, I’d better get those trousers on, then,” Niall joked. “I don’t wanna drive ya wild!”

The brunette smiled at him fondly. “No - your naked legs would make me _explode_ ,” he deadpanned, wiggling his eyebrows and feigning a swoon.

The blonde got lost in his thoughts again for a moment as he changed into his new outfit. “Where do you get your energy from?” he asked Harry genuinely.

“I am a young father. We are a special breed.”

“Alright, I’m done,” said Niall nervously, turning around to face Harry. He fiddled with the cuffs awkwardly and smoothed out the front of the jacket as he tried to find his footing with the new look.

Harry had been looking at his phone to distract himself as he waited for Niall to finish up, but when he glanced away when Niall spoke, the image took his breath away. He drank in the sight of the blonde in front of him fidgeting awkwardly. For a moment it was as if everything stopped, every other thought that was in his brain dropping away - Niall looked good. _Dark blue is a good color on him...it really brings out his eyes_. Harry kicked himself internally.

“So?” Niall asked, eager but somewhat afraid of what Harry would say. He didn’t realize the brunette’s opinion mattered to him so much.

Harry put his phone in his pocket and moved to straighten out Niall’s lapels and button his blazer. His soft touches sent electricity through Niall, who leaned into it ever so slightly. “It makes you look very handsome. Now take your guitar, let’s go!”

The adrenaline pumped through Niall as they took the bus down to the bank where Anne was already waiting for them in the lobby. 

“ _Mon fils!_ ” _My son!_ said Anne, but she walked right past Harry and went straight to Niall and grabbed his shoulders the way she did the previous night and kissed him on both cheeks. Harry gaped at her - at this point his mother was just mocking him. “I have a ‘pep talk’ for you. He will translate,” she explained, flicking her head at Harry.

“Okay,” Niall said dumbly.

Anne took a deep breath and began to tell her tale, bringing her head low and moving her arms wildly. “ _Il était une fois un petit homme qui vivait dans une petite ville avec un petit boulot et un petit bureau. Rien ne lui est jamais arrivé. En vérité, c'était un misérable petit homme. Une nuit, il s'est réveillé dans son lit et pour la première fois de sa vie, il a imaginé de grandes aventures. Il a imaginé d'autres pays et des rencontres fantastiques avec des individus instables. Il a imaginé des histoires d'amour de différentes variétés. Il dormait profondément et quels grands rêves il avait! Le matin est venu et il s'est habillé mais pas avec les vêtements qu'il portait normalement - aujourd'hui, il serait tout neuf! Mais alors, alors qu'il faisait face à sa porte d'entrée vers le monde extérieur, il ferma les yeux et ce même esprit commença à imaginer les choses les plus terribles. Là où auparavant il ne voyait que la vie et le succès, maintenant il ne voyait que la mort et l'échec. Le monde extérieur était là pour le torturer et l'écraser! L'amour était là pour le taquiner et le briser! BAISE-LE! Il s'est déshabillé de ses nouveaux vêtements, est retourné dans son lit et a promis de ne plus jamais rêver de quoi que ce soit. Il resta dans ce lit pour l'éternité, émacié et pourri, couché dans sa propre merde, la seule expression qu'il donna au monde rampant de sa bouche,”_ The French woman paused to simulate choking and dying within her rant. The quiet patrons of the bank were beginning to stare at the trio still standing in the waiting area.

Anne turned her focus back to Niall then, whose bright blue eyes were graying in terror and surprise and a _small_ amount of secondhand embarrassment at the whole thing. “‘ _Ceux qui vivent dans la peur meurent misérablement dans leurs tombes.”_ _Those who live in fear die miserably in their graves,_ she finished and sat back down in her chair. She squeezed Niall’s hands.

Niall looked at Harry then, completely horrified, shook to his core. “Well, what did she say?!?”

Harry was quiet for a moment and looked around the room hoping that the other customers stopped gawking at them. He tried to force a smile and ran his hands through his hair. “Uh...she said ‘good luck,’” he lied. To his surprise, Niall believed it. Or at the very least, Niall definitely didn’t push any further.

Anne glanced at Harry, her frown betraying the almost neutral expression on her face of her annoyance in her son for not translating what she had actually said. They exchanged looks for just a moment before Harry broke the silence. “Oh, would you look at that, the secretary is calling us in, _merci, Maman, au revoir!_ ” he said, giving his mother a quick kiss and ushering Niall down the hall. Anne only scowled in response.

*****

“I can’t say I’ve seen many applications like this one - a bit out of the norm for me,” said the bank manager, a broad man with classically cropped chestnut hair, a perfectly clean-cut beard and kindly brown eyes, sitting behind a big cherry desk with a large monitor and a wooden desk plaque that read ‘Liam Payne, Manager’ in gilded letters. Niall and Harry sat nervously in the civic-looking chairs closest to the door of the office, which had floor-to-ceiling windows and white, drywall ceiling tiles. Niall fought the urge to bite his nails, keeping his hands under his thighs. His anxiety was through the roof. “So you’ve never had an account at this bank?”

“Um, no,” Niall replied.

“In any bank?”

“I’ve got a savings and checking at KBC? And oh, yeah, I’ve got a post office account.”

“Oh, terrific,” the bank manager said blankly.

“My da says postmen are more honest than bankers,” Niall blurted out. Harry kicked him under the desk.

The banker raised his eyebrow and looked away from the application from where it was pulled up on the monitor. “Does he now?” he asked.

“I-uh. Erm, yeah, he does,” the blonde sputtered. _Jesus fucking Christ,_ he thought to himself and bit his lip, hoping no more moronic thoughts would slip through.

Harry brought his fingers to massage the bridge of his nose. He would have to save this now before Niall’s nerves lost the loan before they even got around to discussing it. 

“He is a very good songwriter, sir,” said the Frenchman, turning on the charm and hoping it would get the conversation back on track and distract from the fact that Niall had inadvertently insulted the man who was supposed to give them money.

“Lovely,” said the bank manager, terseness tingeing the edge of his voice. It was forced professionalism, Niall and Harry both knew. 

“We will pay you back with interest when we get the deal.”

The bank manager took his eyes away from his screen to look at Harry and Niall incredulously. He leaned back in his chair and twirled his desk pen around in his fingers. “Well that’s how it works, you see!” he began, slightly sardonically. “I give you the loan and then you repay me with interest which won’t be a problem because you’re going to be snapped up and handed a ferociously large record contract by a major record company.”

The air in the office was silent and Niall blushed. Finally, Harry spoke.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Payne?” he asked the bank manager.

“Please, call me Liam. Yeah, why not?”

“Are you proud to be Irish?”

“Well, that’s a very personal question.”

“Are you proud or not proud? It is not difficult.”

Niall launched further into the assault on his nail beds. Harry was _really_ pushing it here. He began to mentally prepare for the humiliating rejection that the bank manager was about to throw at them.

“I’m originally from the English countryside - Wolverhampton to be exact, but fundamentally, I am proud to be living in Ireland, I suppose,” Liam responded.

Harry was leaning forward in his chair now. “And what makes you the most proud? The first thing.”

“Our culture,” said the banker immediately.

“For an island this tiny to make all these writers and poets and musicians! This is insane!” Harry was standing now, arms wild, to Niall’s horror. _Like mother, like son,_ he thought. “And yet on this little rock in the middle of the ocean you make men and women who for centuries can speak and sing for what it means to be a person. Yeats, Swift, Wilde, Beckett, Joyce, Van Morrison, Enya, U2, the fantastic people that gave the world Riverdance! But it is people like you! People who invest in Irish culture who also make the culture, sir! You are responsible for showing the world that Ireland is still here! Ireland is open for business!”

Once he finished his speech, the Frenchman sat back down, and crossed his hands primly on his lap. There was no sound except for the soft _whirr_ of the computer working overtime. The banker nodded to himself.

“Very good,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Thank you,” said Harry, amazed at himself that he’d pulled that off without being immediately thrown out of the office.

“Very impressive.”

“And the loan?” Harry asked earnestly, viridian eyes going wide. Niall was running out of nails to bite.

“Listen,” the banker sighed sympathetically. “I’m sorry but I’d need some real reassurance of recuperation if I was to bring this any further—”

“Play!” Harry yelped suddenly to Niall desperately and motioned to his guitar case. Niall jumped to get it, slung it around his shoulders and began to strum. His heart was beating rapidly and he felt like he was going to explode, pass out - maybe both at the same time.

The banker’s forehead furrowed as he went on, “It’s true there are countless people in Ireland right now that need financial assistance…”

“Keep playing!” Harry encouraged.

“...And I’m sure you’re talented and everything...you can certainly memorize musical chords and play them in a melodic sequence...but really…”

“Sing!!!”

And sing, Niall did, and good old banker Liam Payne had no choice but to shut up and listen.

“ _Oh no, get ready_

_I feel it coming, it’s coming again_

_I stay close, hold steady_

_‘Cause I don’t want it, don’t want it to end_

_Those brown eyes, crying in a crowded bar_

_Every time we get this close_

_It’s always pulling us apart_

_Don't let the tide come and wash us away_

_Don't let the tide come and take me_

_I just want a safe place to hide us away_

_So don't let the tide come and take me_

_Don't let the tide come and wash us away_

_Don't let the tide come and take me_

_Far from with you, where I wanna stay_

_So don't let the tide come and take me._ ”

Harry and the banker sat in awe of Niall - the blonde had let go of the nerves at the last moment - the perfect possible moment, if you asked Harry - and sang from his heart. He continued,

“ _Oh no, get ready_

_I feel it coming, it's coming again_

_Don't give up, and don't let me_

_'Cause I'm needing you to understand_

_When I go, all I ever seem to fear_

_Is that you're gonna find someone_

_And slowly watch me disappear_

_Don't let the tide come and wash us away_

_Don't let the tide come and take me_

_I just want a safe place to hide us away_

_So don't let the tide come and take me_

_Don't let the tide come and wash us away_

_Don't let the tide come and take me_

_Far from with you, where I wanna stay_

_So don't let the tide come and take me_

_Oh no, get ready_

_Yeah, I feel it coming, it's coming again_

_Stay close and hold steady_

_'Cause I don't want it, don't want it to end_

_No, no, I don't want it, don't want it to end,_ ”

Niall finished singing out the last few stanzas of the song and slowed down his pace until he reached the end. He looked over at Harry, the nervousness beginning to creep back into his face, then looked back over at Liam. His mouth was agape. 

“Do you have many more like that?” asked the banker.

“Very many,” replied Harry, who was beaming with pure pride, a large smile spreading on his face.

“Great voice. Really good.”

“Thanks,” said Niall softly, guitar still in tow.

“Raw,” Liam continued complimenting.

“I suppose, yeah.”

The banker paused. And then, “Can I show you something?” 

Harry and Niall nodded, unsure where this was going. The banker pulled a CD case from a desk drawer and popped it into his computer’s disc slot.

“I’m going to perform a little something for ya. It’s my own cultural crusade if you like but I want your honest opinion, okay?” he said with eager eyes. He pulled up the audio player and fiddled with the outdated external speakers.

“I am all about honesty,” Harry replied. 

“He’s the Ambassador of Honesty,” Niall agreed, placing his guitar back in its case.

“Great stuff! Now by way of an introduction…” said the bank manager, beginning to look nervous.

“Play!” Harry urged.

“It’s a work in progress…”

“Play!”

“Some important biographical decisions to make…”

“Play!!”

The banker hit ‘play’ and a dancepop-R&B backing track began to fill the room. The man had gotten up then and began to sway around the room in his grey suit. Niall was beginning to feel embarrassed - but not for himself this time as the banker began to sing.

“ _I don't wanna be broke when I D-I-E_

_Wanna be livin' it up in VIP_

_Tryna get in the club, they wanna see ID_

_Want me to wear nice shoes and a T-I-E_

_I've been workin' and gettin' by_

_But that ain't enough to satisfy_

_'Cause I got dreams for you and I_

_So I got money on my mind_

_So if you wanna stack it up, man, you gotta work for it_

_I-I-I-I-I-I_

_Ain't nobody gonna be doin' it for ya_

_I-I-I-I-I_

_I got dreams and I got time_

_But that ain't enough to get me by_

_So I stack it up, man, I gotta work for it_

_Yeah, I got money on my mind_

_I-I, I-I_

_I got money on my mind_

_I-I, I-I_

_I got money on my mind_.”

Harry and Niall were frozen to their chairs as the banker pranced around the room in what he probably thought looked like edgy hip hop moves. But they felt bad so they kept the smiles on their faces.

“Well?” the banker asked finally, a giddy grin on his face as he sat back down. He looked like a puppy.

“You can...perform,” Niall forced, hoping his expression wouldn’t betray his true feelings. Liam beamed in response.

The two of them looked over to Harry. The Frenchman’s mouth was a straight line.

“It’s the dancing...and the words….” Harry began, not sure what he should say.

“Maybe don’t put this one on Soundcloud,” Niall finished his thought. 

Liam frowned. He looked like he’d been kicked. “Understood. Thank you,” he said sadly.

 _Fuck!_ Niall cursed to himself. His bitten hands were back in his mouth out of habit. _We fucking blew it. Shoulda just fed his ego._ Next to him, Harry was beginning to sweat. He was quiet.

Liam composed himself and spoke then. “So how much money are we talking about here?”

*****

The lights were dim, the energy electric and the music loud as Niall and Harry sat at a table at The Cobblestone, a musical pub down in Smithfield. They were riding on a high as soon as Liam had approved them for the loan. Harry practically ran when he saw that Anne was still in her spot in the bank’s lobby and scooped her into his arms, burying his face in her neck.

“ _Je savais qu'il le recevrait_ ,” she had said to her son, rubbing his back. _I knew he would get it._

The three of them picked up Darcy from her school right after and Harry shone like the sun the entire bus ride there. Niall thought he probably looked the same. The hope he’d been holding onto was growing, and he was on top of the world. When they dropped Anne and Darcy back at Cabra, they’d invited Eleanor, Ashton, Eoghan, Lewis, Bressie and Calum out to celebrate their success that night and they found themselves at The Cobblestone, Ashton and Calum taking shots at the bar and Eleanor taking her turn at karaoke with a lovely rendition of “Hips Don’t Lie.”

“How long have I known you, now?” Niall asked Harry, moving his barstool closer to the brunette. The blonde was two pints in and was nursing a third. Harry was still on his first and munching on chicken tenders.

“Three days, six hours and—” Harry stopped to check the time on his phone then continued. “Thirty-five minutes.” He smiled, eyes crinkling.

Niall chuckled and looked away briefly to watch Eleanor performing for the pub. “I don’t really get it,” he said.

“What don’t you get?” asked Harry, tilting his head to watch Niall.

“Well, you’ve been so kind and everything - given me a new me!” Niall said happily, moving in a little closer to the brunette. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Harry looked down at his beer sheepishly. “It is really nothing…”

“No, hang on!” Niall said, putting his hand over Harry’s wrist and looking directly into his eyes. “Listen, when we met I was in a bad place - it was more than giving up on music and you knew that. I love my da more than anything in the world but my little room above the shop and the same view of the street outside...that was looking like my life forever. And that was only three days ago. Three days….so thank you.”

Niall gripped Harry’s wrist so firmly, yet so gently, and Harry felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He looked down and swirled his beer around in its glass again. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the pub’s senior bartender and emcee for the night, Nick Grimshaw, but who everyone in town knew as Grimmy.

“Let’s hear it for the elegant Eleanor Calder! Always a welcome woman in this joint. Next up on the Live Mic we have the Hooverman Niall Horan!”

Niall choked on his Guinness as he sipped. The audience around them cheered and clapped.

“It’s you!!” Harry yelled excitedly.

“You put me down to sing!?!” Niall coughed out, his big blue eyes going wide and tearing up as he aspirated. His face was redder than the ketchup that came with Harry’s chicken tenders.

The Frenchman raised his eyebrow and smirked at him. “You must get used to singing your songs on stage, right?!”

“Come on, Hooverman!” Grimmy called out from the mic, scanning the room for him. “We know you’re gonna suck, but it’s okay!”

The crows began to chant, “Hoover! Hoover! Hoover!”

“Jesus Christ,” Niall cursed, and walked over to the stage with his guitar, still wearing Calum’s suit. He looked over at the bar and saw Bressie, Lewis and Eoghan red-faced, giving him wild thumbs-ups.

Niall was quiet once he set up. The entire pub was staring at him, waiting for him to do _something._ For a second his hands went numb and he began to sweat nervously. This was the biggest crowd he’d ever performed for, if you didn’t count the flocks of people that simply passed him by on Fleet Street at peak season. He tapped on the mic and got hit with feedback. _Great first impression there, bud,_ he thought to himself.

“Uh, hi everyone? I’m gonna be singin’ a song I wrote…”

“Ahh, fuck, he wrote it?” a voice called out from the crowd. Niall blushed harder.

“Yeah, I wrote it for a lad but eh...tonight I’d like to sing it now for a—”

“A girl!” jeered another patron.

“Well, for all of us here,” Niall breathed. “‘Cause to live...you have to love.”

“Sweet fuckin’ Jesus, here we go,” called out another, and some of the crowd laughed. Niall pushed it away. He took a deep breath, and began to play.

“ _When you feel your love's been taken_

_When you know there's something missing_

_In the dark, we're barely hangin' on_

_Then you rest your head upon my chest_

_And you feel like there ain't nothin' left_

_I'm afraid that what we had is gone_

_Then I think of the start_

_And it echoes a spark_

_And I remember the magic electricity_

_Then I look in my heart_

_There’s a light in the dark_

_Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me_

_That I wanna keep_

_Please don’t leave_

_Please don’t leave.”_

The pubgoers were silent as Niall sang, but they seemed engrossed in his song, a change from the vocal judgment and jokes he got earlier. Watching from his seat, Harry felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched the blonde get lost in the music, the way he had when they’d sang together at Louis’ shop on their lunch break. Niall looked like he glowed under the spotlight.

“ _When you lay there and you're sleepin'_

_Hear the patterns of your breathin'_

_And I tell you things you've never heard before_

_Asking questions to the ceilin'_

_Never knowing what you're thinkin'_

_I'm afraid that what we had is gone_

_Then I think of the start_

_And it echoes a spark_

_And I remember the magic electricity_

_Then I look in my heart_

_There’s a light in the dark_

_Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me_

_That I wanna keep_

_Please don’t leave_

_Please don’t leave_

_And I want this to pass_

_And I hope this won't last_

_Last too long.”_

From Niall’s spot on the stage, the people around him began to melt away with his nerves and his troubles. He looked back at where he and Harry had been sitting before, and he was glad that of all the people who had disappeared from his vision, the wild-haired brunette had remained. Harry sent him a reassuring smile as he dove into the last chorus, and Niall smiled back. The Frenchman was the only person who mattered in the moment.

“ _Then I think of the start_

_And it echoes a spark_

_And I remember the magic electricity_

_Then I look in my heart_

_There’s a light in the dark_

_Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me_

_That I wanna keep_

_Please don’t leave_

_Please don’t leave._ ”

As Niall finished, Harry’s heart was full and proud. Center stage was exactly where he knew Niall would thrive. But the last notes and Niall’s croon of _"Please don’t leave”_ sent a wave of unexpected worry through his bones. He wanted to let go of his old life so badly and yet - he was afraid of the new feelings bubbling under his skin. This couldn’t be happening, Harry still had a promise he had to keep - the ball wasn’t in his court. Watching Niall become one with his music and immediately brighten, and seeing the crowd cheer for the Hooverman and the smile remain on the beautiful Irishman’s face, Harry realized he had fallen in love with Niall.

And there wasn’t much he could do to stop it.


	2. if you want me, satisfy me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry's in love!! now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the 'once' ending i deserved and i hope y'all love it too

Rehearsals for the recording of Niall’s demo were, to say the least, not going well. Harry had “hand-picked” - which Niall knew simply meant that Harry was just asking whoever was free for the next two days, a musician and closest in convenience to the two of them - their band, and it was quite simply, a goddamn mess. Eleanor, Ashton, Calum, Liam and Louis. Harry had asked Bressie and Lewis, but they were both busy with actual work, so. With just two days until they were to hit the studio, there was almost no progress on learning the music and immediately upon the “band” getting together, Louis and Liam could not get along.

The group had set up in Louis’ shop, moving instruments and chairs from each section - percussion, strings, pianos - around until they had a setup arranged in the open space of the shop just close enough to each other to still have room to breathe. If a customer were to walk in at that very moment - which was highly unlikely given Louis’ dismal sales reports over the last few months - they would be immediately greeted by the ragtag group of amateurs.

“Now wait a second - you’re absolutely joking me - let me get this straight,” Louis stammered, his face becoming red with fury. “You’re a banker, is that right?”

Liam rolled his eyes and gripped his cello (which luckily for Niall, he could play better than he danced). “You’ve heard it three fuckin’ times now!!” he shot back at Louis.

“The very people who are threatening to steal these premises offa me if I don’t start making sales! A banker originally from ENGLAND - am I the only one who’s uncomfortable with this?!” Louis ranted on.

“Yes!” Harry snapped from his place at the cherry piano. “Let’s rehearse, please!”

Louis continued on as if Harry had not said a word. “It’s the combination of banker and English, am I right?!?”

The band groaned in response. Niall asked God what he did to deserve this.

“And what’s wrong with England?!” Liam retorted, his face turning red and his fingers now turning white around the neck of his cello. 

“It’s the land of colonizers,” Calum interjected from his seat and his bass guitar. Everyone turned to look at him. “I’m Maori, and my dad’s from New Zealand,” he explained. The group nodded in understanding.

“Exactly! Payne is a _Tan_ and his existence here is an insult to my good relatives who perished in The Troubles, may their souls rest in peace and may God’s perpetual light shine upon them!” Louis crowed dramatically.

The banker looked like steam could be escaping from his ears. “Well none of that is my fault, my family is mostly factory workers!” he snapped.

Louis turned his piercing blue eyes back at Liam. “Oi, you still here, Brit?”

Harry had risen from his piano bench then. His brow was knit and his cheeks were reddening. “Louis, stop!” he shouted.

“My shop, my rules, Harold! The establishment is not welcome here, love!” Louis said, not taking his eyes away from Liam. “We are creators of music. We are free from the shackles of capitalism!”

“You literally own a shop, Louis,” Niall said, expressionless. This whole thing was a massive waste of time they didn’t have.

Louis paused for just a moment to figure out his next move in his diva moment. “That’s true, but I’ve got the heart of an artist,” he said, nose upturned. He turned back to Liam. “Now fuck off!”

Liam inhaled before he decided to speak again. The whole room was looking at him. “I am as much an artist as you are, and you’re being an ignorant fucker!”

Niall internally applauded the banker’s calmness in the face of Louis’ attitude.

“I might very well be an ignorant fucker, but at least I’m a Dublin one!”

“And Dublin’s deadly, man!” Calum interjected.

“As my Dublin friend says,” said Louis smugly.

The banker rolled his eyes in exasperation. “He’s Australian!” he shot back.

“SHUT UP!!!!” Harry bellowed as loud as he could muster, face and ears going red. The room went silent and all eyes turned to him. Niall had never seen Harry like this and well - it was kind of hot. “For a few moments, would you _please_ just keep the shit-talk to yourselves? Louis?”

He gave Louis an earnest, yet scathing and stern, expression. His typically bright emerald eyes had become stormy.

Louis sighed. “For the sake of this rehearsal and my commitment to this musical odyssey, I will suspend my instinct and channel my energies into the melody.”

Harry flicked his gaze to Liam.

“For the sake of my investment - let’s play,” grunted Liam with an air of finality.

“Wanker,” Louis muttered under his breath as he picked up his own guitar. Harry shot him a fiery glance as he took his place back at the piano.

Relieved that the worst seemed to be over, Niall made rounds to every band member to make sure they had all the sheet music and notes, just to make sure everyone was on the same page. After Louis and Liam’s row, there simply wasn’t enough time in the world to make sure everything was right.

“This kit is super nice,” said Ashton, from behind the brand-new drumset, still shiny and glittering deep navy, with a price tag on it.

“You’ve played drums before, right?” the Irishman asked nervously.

“Calum and I play in a band back home in Sydney,” replied Ashton, a grand, dimpled smile gracing his face. “A pop-punk band. I can play hard.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” said Niall. He loved hearing about other people playing and loving music. “Well, this is gonna be a little more folksy than punk.”

“Play softer, then?”

“If that’s alright, yeah.”

“You got it, Nail,” Ashton replied eagerly and excitedly. The Irishman frowned at the nickname.

Harry looked up from the piano, then. He’d been arranging his notes across the stand for ease. “Everyone ready?” he asked.

“Yeah, let’s give it a lash. Alright everyone, this one’s the chorus. It’s in A-minor!” Niall directed.

Niall began to strum the notes on his guitar, and Harry began to follow along right on the melody with the keys of the piano. Like their duet at the shop just days earlier, their style began to flow easily. Ashton came in with the percussion intro, Louis started the rhythm guitar, Eleanor accented with her violin, Calum pulled on his bass. Liam began to play the cello portion, but Louis, upon hearing the low notes of the instrument, began to quicken his pace on the guitar and strum harder in competition. Calum, on instinct, crescendoed his playing so that the bass would be heard, and like a true musical brother, so did Ashton. Eleanor, unnerved by what was happening around her, attempted to play faster, and as everyone tried to figure out what the hell was going on, Niall felt his frustration rise and stopped playing, letting the song collapse in on itself.

“Fucking hell!” Niall yelled, putting his pick inbetween his teeth and bringing his fingers to his temples and rubbing circles furiously.

Harry rose from his seat and glared at Louis. “What are you playing?!? What the hell was that?!? _Merde,_ ” he swore.

Louis put his hands up. “It needed to travel more - the song’s so sleepy!”

“It needs some soul,” said Ashton.

“Definitely a little pop in there to keep it current,” added Calum. 

Harry placed his head in his hands. “No fancy stuff!”

“But we need to _express_ something!” Liam piped in.

“Well then express yourself outta here - you’re brutal!” Louis retorted bitterly.

“Hey!” Niall shot at Louis. He could feel his blood pressure going up. It was like babysitting children, and Niall almost regretted letting Harry rope him into this situation, but then that would mean he would never have said yes to Harry as a whole.

“You’re shit!” Louis sneered at Liam, completely ignoring Niall’s attempt at mediation.

“A fish could play better than you,” Liam spat.

“Get outta Dublin ya big British idiot! You make me sick, and your accent makes me sicker!”

“I’m leaving, then!”

“You stay right there, CARPETBAGGER! It’s me who owns _you,_ Banker - it’s me who’s walkin’ out! You can take your fucking cello and shove it up your asshole! It’s finished!” Louis crowed, then strutted dramatically out the door of his shop, slamming it behind him, and into the Fleet Street afternoon. The divided and stunned band could only look on. But just as soon as Louis had left the building he came right back inside. “Obviously this is my shop and it’s you who’ll have to leave,” he said, trying to hold himself together.

“Obviously,” Liam snorted angrily.

“Rehearsal’s over!! All of ya, get out!” Louis bellowed, finally losing his top.

Devastated and annoyed at the turn of events, the group packed their belongings, gathered their sheet music, and walked out of Tommo’s Place.

*****

Niall and Harry were sat on a wooden bench on Fleet Street not far from where Harry normally worked selling newspapers and magazines. They didn’t know where else to go when Louis sent everyone away, but the two of them also knew they couldn’t go very far just in case the feisty shop owner changed his mind, so they chose the city bench. 

“Not even gettin’ started and it’s falling apart. Typical, just typical,” Niall muttered to himself.

The blonde was keeled over with his head in his hands, muttering to himself and trying to ease his anxiety over the situation, and, thank God for it, Harry left him to his coping devices and sat silently a few inches from Niall. In other situations when Niall had been caught having a minor episode like this, the situation quickly became tense, especially if he was with someone he didn’t know that well. Bressie, Lewis, Eoghan, Ellie, his family - they all knew how to handle this and properly be there for Niall to give him the space he needed to work out his inner feelings while still remaining steadfast there _with_ him. He was afraid he’d scare Harry away, and he wasn’t sure why he was surprised that the Frenchman stayed with him. Although, perhaps with the way Harry had read him so accurately when they’d first met, he shouldn’t have been so shocked at it - and he appreciated that Harry let him feel no shame for any of his feelings. Finally, when Niall felt that he’d circled his thoughts in his head enough times, he took a deep breath, and sat up on the bench.

“We have to fix this,” Niall said, looking at the cobblestone ground and at his freshly bitten nails. His voice was almost commanding; you couldn’t argue with it.

Harry simply nodded. “Okay,” he replied, and turned to look at Niall to his right.

“We have to make them like each other, at least for a little while.” Niall turned his head to meet Harry’s gaze.

The brunette barked out a laugh at that. Niall was confused.

“When will you see it?” Harry asked, still laughing.

“See what?”

“They do like each other. Their anger at each other is purely sexual,” said Harry matter-of-factly.

“No way, you saw the way that Louis cursed Liam to hell and back.”

Harry started laughing even harder, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes as he held onto Niall’s shoulder for support and hair falling in his face. Finally, he seemed to catch his breath and he wiped the tears away before he spoke again. “ _Mon gros,_ I have known Louis the entire time I have been here in Dublin. The way he’s being right now...trust me, it is what he does when he is attracted to someone,” he explained. “Just a little bit childish, but it makes sense for his pride and his values.”

Niall simply gaped at him. “Are you serious? All of that over wanting some dick?”

The brunette shrugged and looked at Niall seriously, stealing a glance at his pink lips. “We all do crazy things for sex and love every now and then.” Niall blushed at his own memory of watching Harry go down on him just a couple nights ago. He pushed the thought out of his mind.

It was beginning to get dark and the crowds of Dubliners and remaining seasonal tourists were beginning to find their hangout spots for the night. Niall decided to announce his next crazy thought. “So we need to get Louis and Liam together, then,” he said with conviction.

“Good thing Louis texted to let me know he is going to Palace Bar when he finishes closing up to take his mind off things and that you and I are welcome to join,” said Harry, just a hint of mischief in his voice. Niall’s ears perked up.

“You won’t happen to know where Liam might be, would you?” 

Harry was wearing a smug smirk on his face. “I may have invited him to have a drink with me to help him feel better about how rehearsal went. And he may have accepted the invitation,” he answered.

“You sneaky bastard,” Niall said, smiling in impressed surprise at the Frenchman. “You take Liam, I’ll take Louis then?”

“Oh, of course,” said Harry, his smirk turning into a bright grin.

*****

“I need ya, Louis, I need you big time!” Niall all but screamed at Louis over two pints in the (quite literally) centuries-old Victorian-era cherry booth at Palace Bar, just a few feet from the entrance. His wild-eyed look reflected back at him through the mirror just behind Louis, the same mirrors framed in every partition that graced the pub. The building was beginning to darken as the modern spherical ceiling lights above the pubgoers were dimmed for the evening rush.

Louis pretended not to hear the blonde and continued on with his rant. “I hate that banker! They’re crushin’ me into the ground,” he muttered, taking a sip of his Guinness. He looked at Louis, a fiery, but sad, look in his eyes. “I’m a man of principle - I can’t do it! I’m out if he stays in!”

“I’m beggin’ ya!” Niall said desperately, leaning over the table slightly.

“Don’t beg me!”

“Well I don’t wanna beg you!”

“Flatter me, then.”

“Flatter you?”

“I need it!!” Louis crowed and pouted. He sighed. “Flatter me.”

Niall was silent for a moment. He thought about what he would say, took a sip of his beer, then breathed. He made careful eye contact with Louis. “You’re a beautiful man,” he said softly, not breaking his gaze.

Louis seemed to think about this for a bit before replying. “Yeah, I do have a beauty,” he repeated to himself.

The blonde continued, treading lightly. “You’ve got a real feel for the music, too - I can tell, Louis.”

“You reckon?”

“Oh definitely! I _need_ your playing if I’m ever gonna take off and get a record deal like Harry says.”

“You think I play well?!” Louis’ cool cyan eyes shone with excitement and validation.

“You play massive, man! Massive!” Niall continued, grasping the arm of his mug. “You own a music shop, you of all people should be part of this! Plus if you hadn’t threatened my life when we first met, Harry and I would never’ve figured our shit out and all of this wouldn’t be happening.” 

The flattery seemed to be working, and Niall felt the hope rise in his stomach. It helped that the words coming from his mouth weren’t complete bullshit either. He was always pretty bad at lying.

“I’m feeling better! This is helping!” Louis’ voice rose. His confidence was clearly beginning to grow again. “Get me a drink!”

Niall high-fived himself on the inside. “Anything at all - the bar’s yours, mate!”

“An Old-Fashioned! Louis Tomlinson is back, baby!” he cheered.

On the other side of the noisy pub, Harry sat with Liam in their own booth, close to the restrooms. The Frenchman had coordinated with Niall so that they wouldn’t accidentally cross paths until it was necessary. The banker was moping and swirling his beer around in its mug as he pouted to Harry as they shared chicken tenders and chips.

“I don’t really like fighting with people, you know?” said Liam, eyes earnest and sad. “I got kicked around in school a lot and when I came to Dublin it was a fresh start - and I really like playing the cello! I just really wanted to help you and Niall out. He has a lot of talent.”

Harry prided himself in being a good father, so he let his paternal instincts kick in. “There, there, Liam,” he said softly, almost comically. “I’ve only been here three months so I understand. But you should still do this - Niall and I, we knew you were meant to be in this band.”

Liam looked up from his drink. “You really think that?” he asked genuinely.

Harry nodded vigorously, eyes bright and sincere. “Yes. Now come on, what will it take to really get you to stay?”

The banker’s face became serious. “A whiskey,” he said with finality. “A double.”

Back at Palace’s entrance, Louis had steered the conversation to everything Niall didn’t care about, or care to talk about. It didn’t take long to win back Louis’ trust, but to keep it, Niall had to listen to Louis love the sound of his own voice.

“Do you want an observation?” Louis asked Niall, sipping his third Old-Fashioned.

“Not really,” replied Niall flatly.

“He likes you.”

“Right.”

“I have an intuition about these things,” Louis went on, eyes beginning to look a little glazed. Niall hoped the shit he was talking was purely alcohol.

“I don’t wanna talk about it…” said Niall, nursing his beer, head leaned in his hand.

“Three months I’ve known ‘im, he’s been so guarded - keepin’ up with his mum and little girl, you know,” Louis mused. “Harold would barely let anyone get close to him, just enough to say he had a friend, but then YOU come along and suddenly his heart is wide open - but just for you! Now what are you gonna do about it?”

“Louis, I don’t want to talk about this with you!” Niall’s cheeks were flushing. If anyone asked, it was definitely the beer getting to him. That was it. Nothing else.

“We are talking about this!”

“I’m here so we can keep using your shop and get you to stop shitting on Liam, not to talk about my love life!” Niall exclaimed, and as soon as the words left his mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say. His teal eyes went wide and he clasped his hand over his mouth.

Louis looked hurt all over again as he finished his drink. “Thought you wanted me for my ‘massive’ playing, and instead you want to fraternize with the enemy,” he said drily, getting up from his seat at the booth. Niall opened his mouth to respond but Louis stopped him. “Save it, you _snake_. I’m going to get another drink.”

The blonde groaned and put his head on the table. Realizing there was no time to mope around, he got up and followed Louis to the bar.

Liam and Harry were sitting at the bar now, and Harry was quite proud of his espionage skills as the banker was now spilling his guts to him.

“You think Louis is cute,” Harry repeated.

“Could you stop saying it? It’s embarrassing,” Liam cringed over another glass of whiskey. “I’m literally that kid who has a crush on their bully.”

The Frenchman popped a bar peanut in his mouth before speaking. “Do not be embarrassed, you must find your middle ground with him and then make your move - show him who’s boss. Louis is harmless, I promise,” he advised honestly.

Liam looked up at him. “Okay, now your turn - pay me with honesty.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you want Niall? I mean, he’s very attractive, with his sunny looks and brooding exterior.”

Harry snorted at the description. “In the way that you want Louis?”

Liam paused and frowned. “Do you want to be with him?” he asked.

Harry sighed and looked down at his glass. It was nearing empty. He took a small handful of peanuts. “I’m with someone,” he said.

“Yes, but based on what you told me earlier, it sounds like you’re with someone who doesn’t see how beautiful you are, Harry! Niall seems sweet; he has the same soul as you,” Liam pleaded. Harry’s heart wrenched inside.

“He is going to America to be with his man,” Harry sighed again, not looking up from the bowl of peanuts. “Besides, you don’t know me that well, how would you even know that?”

“You’re standing right in front of him!!” Liam cried out - he was definitely drunk. “And the same way you knew I’d need a night at the pub to talk about my feelings so me and Louis could get along.” His chestnut eyes sparkled with mischief, but Harry brushed it off as the alcohol.

“Liam, please—”

“Do it for you!”

“It is not important right now!”

“What could be more important than love?!”

“Getting Louis’ shop so we can record Niall’s demo! Please!” Harry cried out, finally looking at Liam and letting the desperation show on his face under the dim lights of the pub. From behind Liam, Harry saw Louis making his way toward the bar, and tilted his head in curiosity as he watched Niall trying to keep up behind him. “Liam, there he is! Make your move!”

Liam glanced over his shoulder and back again so quickly that Harry, briefly horrified, thought he was going to break his neck. The banker’s eyes were wide. “Here goes nothing,” he said, and knocked back his whiskey before his schoolboy nerves could get the best of him. For what it was worth, Louis didn’t seem to notice the two of them yet as he fought for an open barstool so he could flag down the bartender. Liam rose from his seat and made his way to Louis.

“Fuck, are they gonna fight?” Niall began when he caught up to Harry and they observed what was happening, but Harry shushed him.

Liam puffed his chest a little to give himself a confidence boost, then slid into the spot next to Louis that miraculously opened up.

“So, you like vintage drinks,” Liam spoke, noticing the Manhattan in front of Louis, but it wasn’t angry or judgmental - just soft.

“Oi, oi, not the bankman come to ruin my night after he ruined my day,” he said crossly, staring daggers into Liam. But this time, Liam, who was at least a good few inches taller than Louis, was unfazed, and the whiskey-fueled adrenaline meant he wasn’t going to take Louis’ shit.

Liam took a breath. “You know, working in a bank doesn’t define me. It’s not my only personality trait,” he said, mouth straight. “I’m just there to work - I don’t handle repos and I don’t handle collections. I give out the money. I help, and I want to help Niall and Harry. So help me help them.”

Louis seemed to soften at his words, shrinking underneath the bangs that covered his forehead. “I’m sorry I lashed out at ya, I’m just losing money on the one thing I put my heart into, is all,” he said finally.

From where they were watching, Niall and Harry silently gasped. Louis Tomlinson...swallowing his pride?! It was a moment to be treasured, because it would probably never happen again.

“Well, maybe you should put your heart in other places then,” Liam suggested, biting his lip, nervous that he was being too obvious. “Take your mind off it for a little.”

Louis looked up from his drink and into Liam’s eyes with a deep intensity. He said nothing, but laid a few notes on the table. Gripping Liam’s wrist, he got up from his seat and pulled him close, whispering something in his ear that made him turn cherry red. Like a puppy looking for its owner, he let himself be tugged out into the Dublin night by Louis, not one of them saying a word to Niall or Harry.

Niall was speechless before he chuckled to himself. “It really worked,” he said under his breath. He turned to Harry, who was still munching on the free bar peanuts. 

“Did you not think it would?” Harry asked, a smug smirk playing at his lips as he sipped on his glass of water. Niall shook his head and laughed.

“Hey, let’s do something. Let’s get out of the city and breathe a little,” Niall said, leaning over to Harry.

Harry's smile faltered. “It is late, Niall. I should go home.”

“Please.” Niall gazed at him with a desperate intensity, and grasped Harry’s shoulder. “I know a place.”

 _Goddammit!_ Harry thought to himself, his breath stopping in his throat. What was it about this Irish man that made him so reckless? “Okay,” he replied.

Niall paid their tab and led the way out of Palace Bar, Harry following right behind him.

*****

Of all the things Harry had imagined he’d be doing on a Thursday nearing midnight, a train ride to Sutton and then a 30-minute hike in almost complete darkness across a rocky trail and through brushes of purple heather, muted yellow gorse and the occasional terrifying steep cliff were not one of them. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d think he was wrong about this depressed musician this whole time and he was actually being led to his eventual death. Cell service was shit up here, so he wouldn’t even have the chance to tell his mother and Darcy goodbye. But when Niall had finally taken a seat at the grassy top of Howth Hill and he took in the view of the ever-blue Dublin Bay in the almost pitch night, he concluded that all of that work was worth it, and in stark contrast to his extreme thoughts, he’d never felt more alive. Silently and careful not to slip on the plants, he sat down on the ground with Niall.

“What’s the French for ‘ocean’?” Niall asked softly, staring out at the spot where the waves met the curved beach.

“ _Océan_ ,” Harry replied.

The Irishman snorted. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. He paused to feel the light autumn wind meet the sea breeze across his skin.

“Easy language then, innit?”

“It’s very easy, yes.”

“No point in having any language, at this point.”

“No, definitely not.” Harry paused again, looking out into the distance. “Look at the little lights. The city looks tiny from here.”

Niall shifted ever so slightly toward Harry. “It does. It is,” he said finally. “Does Dublin feel like home?”

Harry thought about Niall’s question for a moment and brought his knees to his chest. “I think so. It never became what it wanted to be...but it’s still a life and a good one I think,” he said, sincerity lacing his voice. “Very good people. Big-hearted people.”

“That’ll be all the potatoes,” Niall joked, taking Harry out of his dreamy musing for just a little bit.

The Frenchman playfully knocked into Niall’s shoulder. “You’ll miss it when you go to New York,” he stated.

“I suppose.”

“It is so nice here.”

“Yeah,” Niall replied absentmindedly, staring into the distance. Harry glanced over at him, and he thought about how Niall glowed in the moonlight. “I used to come here as a boy on the good Sundays when the weather wasn’t crap. Me, Greg, Ma, and Da on the train. It was great. Twenty-minute train ride but it may as well have been Borneo or Hawai’i or somethin’.”

Harry kept his eyes on Niall, waiting for him to continue.

“My ma brought me with two of my friends once - you know Bressie and Eoghan? And we were walkin’ the cliff walk way down there. And, ya know, like boys we were messin’ about, getting a little too close to the edge. And I think we must’ve wandered off the path, gone a bit lower and onto a smaller, narrower path - and there’s this big rock juttin’ out, blocking us and beyond the rock the path is much wider and safer definitely. We’re all only about seven years old and my ma can easily lift us over the rock and back onto the path, and one by one she does that,” the blonde went on, fidgeting under his sweater. “So I’m on the safe side and watching her climb over on her own. She’s holding on to it and her little flat shoes are finding a grip. I look down, and way below is a terrible fall and sharp rocks and ocean. And I start cryin’. And of course she makes it to the other side and the rest of the day is all fish and chips and ice cream at the harbor and lots of laughs - but I can’t really shift what I felt. I knew now what it was to be scared. That’s a terrible lesson you have to learn, isn’t it? Wasting life because you’re frightened by it? Terrible.”

“I wish I could have the same spirit my ma had,” Niall closed off. “Even half of it would be good.”

Harry leaned in to Niall, shoulder to shoulder, no more distance left between them. “You’re a lovely person,” he assured. “I’m very happy my Hoover was broken.”

Niall laughed softly. “Me too.”

In the moonlight and the pasture of wildflowers surrounding them, Niall met Harry’s gaze. Niall’s eyes flicked to Harry’s lips, then—

“I like spending time with you,” Harry hesitated. “But I have certain responsibilities...if sometimes I seem cold…”

“It’s alright - please don’t worry about it,” Niall sympathized, taking the brunette’s hand in his.

Harry broke eye contact and turned his eyes to the ground. “Darcy’s mother is my wife. Is this okay?” His voice cracked with nervousness as he asked. Harry knew this could only go on so long before he had to explain himself to Niall.

“I understand.”

Harry sighed, yearning to change the subject, but he continued. “Her name is Camille. She is trying to make it big in the film industry, that’s why I thought maybe moving somewhere new would help ease things - she is good. But she runs away from reality sometimes.”

Niall squeezed Harry’s hand but said nothing. But the silence was comforting for Harry - it felt good to let his “secret” out and not feel judged or pitied. It wasn’t that his friends and family pitied his situation - quite the opposite, actually, once Harry had made his decision to leave - but rather, he pitied himself in more ways than he cared to admit. But even with all that, it still felt wrong to let himself acknowledge what was happening right next to him, and his hope in Camille and in his family stopped him.

“Tomorrow we will go to the studio and record,” said Harry suddenly, sitting up a little straighter at the change of subject.

“Yeah,” Niall almost whispered.

“We will do good. Don’t be frightened,” the brunette stated, but Niall wasn’t quite thinking about any of that yet.

“So what’s the French for ‘Do you still love her?’” he asked earnestly.

Harry took in a sharp breath and paused for a while. “ _L'aimes-tu encore,”_ he replied, exhaling.

“So…. _l’aimes-tu encore_?” 

Harry, for his part, did not let go of Niall’s hand, but he looked away from him as he thought about what to say. He glanced back at the blonde, who was waiting with curious eyes. Harry exhaled deeply again. “ _Je t’aime plus chaque dour,”_ he breathed. And while his heart soared at the admission, it also shattered at the prospect of his real life back at home.

“What does that mean?” Niall asked, but Harry expertly deflected.

He rose from his spot in the brush, looked at the clouds beginning to darken the clear sky and slowly took his hand away from Niall’s. “Come on, it looks like it’s about to rain.”

Niall still didn’t have his translation, but he knew it wasn’t a weather observation. Regardless, he followed Harry obediently back onto the trail that would bring them back to Howth Head’s village and the train station.

*****

Harry got the call around 8:40AM the next morning, not long after he had gotten on the bus from Cabra to the recording studio after bringing Darcy to school. It would have been 9:40 in Paris, and Harry remembered thinking that it was kind of early for Camille to be phoning him on a Friday. He knew that she liked to cherish her mornings to get a little extra shut-eye before she had to go to work and she preferred to call in the evenings or on weekends. Despite the strange timing, his heart still leapt at the prospect of hearing the familiarity of her voice - with the events of the week, Lord knew he needed something to bring him back to reality.

“ _Coucou, mon amour,_ ” _Hello, my love,_ he answered, bringing his phone to his ear, careful not to be too loud so as not to disturb the commuters around him.

“Henri,” began Camille. Her voice was calm and serious. It worried Harry, but he tried not to think too much of it. “You’re awake.”

“ _Oui,_ I have a busy day today,” he informed her. His heart raced as it ached to tell her more - she was always the one he’d tell stories to, regurgitate his day back to whenever they’d see each other after a long while. There was so much from the week to update her on. The 24 hours he and his friends were about to spend in a studio was going to be huge.

Camille breathed a long sigh on the other line. “Oh, do you have time to talk then? If you are busy it can wait—”

“I have about 20 minutes until I have to go - and you know I would always make time for you,” Harry chirped, glad to be talking to her. It felt normal.

“It will be best to skip the small talk then,” she said, the seriousness not leaving her voice, and Harry’s heart broke before she could even finish her thought because he knew what was coming next. “Henri, I want a divorce.”

Harry was nauseous suddenly and he became more aware of the movement of the bus from its turns at corners to the smallest of bumps of the pavement. He felt warm all over but cold at the same time and his vision became spotty as he leaned backward into his seat.

Phone still at his ear, he heard a “Henri? Henri, did you hear me?” getting fainter and fainter. “ _Est-ce que ça va?_ ” _Are you okay?_

Just as soon as the wave of nausea came, it went and was replaced by the tiniest inkling of relief. But the hurt of Camille’s request still lingered at the pit of his chest. He chuckled to himself at the weirdness of the last twelve hours, adding this to the list of ways God really wanted to fuck with him.

When he regained his bearings, Harry took the phone away from his ear to make sure Camille was still on the line before talking again. “What changed?” he croaked bitterly. 

He heard Camille take a deep breath. Her tone was professional and cold, devoid of feeling. “I realized I need to be free. I settled down too early. And I met someone,” she said. “His name is Theo, he’s an art dealer. I met him through work.” And Harry thought he was going to get nauseous again - instead, he was numb. Maybe a little jealous, but mostly, he was numb.

“How long?” asked Harry emotionlessly.

Camille sighed and said nothing.

“How long?” Harry repeated, the pain now lacing his words.

“Since April,” she replied, voice cracking, and Harry felt the thread that was holding their marriage together finally sever. He felt himself shatter at the realization that he’d suggested they separate in May, and that he, Anne and Darcy had arrived in Dublin by late June. Harry tried not to let his thoughts wander into the secrets Camille had been keeping from him, and whether or not she’d seen his leave as an opportunity for herself.

But like Camille had said, it was simply best to cut to the chase. It was getting closer to his stop as the minutes passed. “If that’s what you want, you can file the initial request with the notary then, and I’ll be home in two weeks to go through the motions for the mandatory waiting period,” he said, adopting the same professional tone she used with him. 

“You’re not...you’re not fighting it?” she stammered, genuine surprise lacing her voice.

It was Harry’s turn to sigh. Sadness and regret had long left the building and he was just frustrated at the prolonging of what he should have known was inevitable. “What is there left to fight for? You don’t love me anymore - I had a feeling you haven’t in a long time - and I can only fight so hard for Darcy to have a mother,” he explained with light disdain. “All I can say at this point is that I tried. Although, I never imagined we’d end things over a phone call.” He chuckled sardonically again, but Camille made no sound in return.

“ _Je suis désolé, Henri,” I’m sorry, Harry,_ Camille apologized sincerely, but choked as her throat caught the tears she had been holding back. “We were real, we were true. Please know that it does hurt me to make this decision and that I’m not even making it for myself - Darcy deserves better.”

Harry’s rigid shoulders softened. “Thank you for setting us free.”

The bus slowed down and moved toward the curb of Pleasants Place, and Harry knew that although there was more to discuss, their conversation was coming to an end. Through the fuzziness of the phone’s quality, he could hear Camille’s muffled sobs. He felt bad - he didn’t feel the need to cry about his marriage anymore. Harry realized now that most of it had left his system in the first month of arriving in Dublin.

“Hey,” Harry said, attempting to regain her attention as he stepped off the bus onto the sidewalk. He knew that Camille didn’t expect herself to react the way she was; quite the opposite actually. She was supposed to be the heartbreaker here. “Let’s talk more this weekend, okay? I have to go.”

Camille sniffled. “Alright,” her voice rasped out. “I...I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Walking towards the entrance of Camden Recording Studios, Harry worked to bury his feelings before anyone could see him. He wondered if Camille felt any shame the way he did after he slept with Niall, knowing the commitment they had promised to each other in marriage. And yet, as he pondered the commitment he made to help Niall out, he thought maybe he and Camille were the same. He stopped at the doorway and sighed, his thumb itching to end the call.

“Have a good day, Camille,” he said unceremoniously. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And before she could respond, he gave in to his instincts and hung up. He willed himself to push away the emotional burden that laid on his shoulders, and pulled open the door.

*****

“So has uhhh….has any one of yas ever made anything outside of your bedrooms?” asked Luke, the producer assigned by the studio to help out with Niall’s demo, skeptically over the PA.

He looked over at the band from behind the booth’s soundproof glass window in the control room. From inside the isolation booth, the group looked nervous as all hell.

“No, we’re all virgins,” replied Niall into the mic, large black monitoring headphones on top of his bottle-blonde hair and guitar over his shoulders. His dark brown roots were beginning to peek through as his hair grew out. He was standing front and center, closest to the window.

Louis snorted from just behind him. “Speak for yourself,” he said, holding his own guitar.

“Absolutely,” added Liam, dreamily. He was sitting with his cello just a little further off to Luke’s right along with Eleanor so that the sound of the strings could be more easily isolated later on.

Niall turned quickly to glare at them. “ _Studio_ virgins,” he clarified sharply. Harry, sitting at the studio’s lovely mahogany upright piano at the back wall, threw a hand over his mouth to hide the laughter that escaped his lips.

Liam blushed furiously. “Oh. Right, yeah, first time,” he spluttered silently.

On the other hand, Louis had much less shame. “Last night was a night of first times,” he smirked, and it should have been devious but the way he spoke had just the tiniest air of earnestness and innocence. “Last night, Luke, I gave my body to the God of Desire. I became free….like a bird.”

From his seat at the mixing board, Luke remained expressionless as he stared at the band, scratching at his stubble. “Uhh...alright then, onto ground rules and general information. Bathrooms are down the hall, let me know if one of yas needs a break of any kind - I’m being paid the same amount to be here regardless. Kitchen’s over by the main office by the entrance, help yourselves to tea and coffee if you want. If you want biscuits or other food, you’ll have to buy it at the shops outside. Clear?” he explained. The band nodded. “Right, so you’re all miked up now — what are we recording?”

“Songs. Loads of songs,” declared Ashton from his drum kit in the very back of the isolation booth. Luke’s expression remained unimpressed at this, and Calum, standing next to Harry and the piano with the studio-owned bass guitar, facepalmed.

“You know, that banker lay upon me so sensuously, so athletic and strong and yet so generous with his body,” interrupted Louis, not realizing (or rather, not caring) that his microphone was still on or that not everyone cared to hear about his sexcapades, looking Liam dead in the eye and causing him to blush harder. Niall tapped his foot over the reverb pedal next to the mic stand.

The producer frowned and turned his attention to Harry at the piano. “How long is this session again?” he asked. The Frenchman returned an apologetic look to him.

“Twenty-four-hour lock-in,” he responded. 

“Fuck me,” Luke swore under his breath, running his hands through his golden brown curls. “Right, well, we’d better get started then.”

Niall nodded nervously then turned back to face his friends. This was all really happening. “Okay,” he began. “Harry - you’re with me from the start, you already know when to come in with the backing vocals. Louis, Ashton, Calum, El - you lot are in on the second verse. Liam - I’ll give ya a nod.”

He looked at Harry for some kind of reassurance as the reality that he was really in a professional studio recording _his_ own music began to hit him like a truck. “We know what we’re doing, right?”

Harry returned his expression with deep intensity and a signature grin and for Niall, it was the most comforting thing in the world. “Right,” Harry assured him, the confidence in his voice not wavering for a second.

“Ready when you are,” Luke spoke from the PA system. Niall gave him a thumbs up and nodded at Harry.

The blonde counted down, and he and Harry began to play their respective parts without missing a beat, the strong picks at the guitar strings and the sweet, bell-like sounds of the piano providing a mellow background for their voices as Niall led, and Harry followed behind him with the harmony as his equal.

“ _So, if you want something_

_And you call, call_

_Then I'll come running_

_To fight and I'll be at your door_

_When there's nothing worth running for_

_When your mind's made up_

_When your mind's made up_

_There's no point trying to change it_

_When your mind's made up_

_When your mind's made up_

_There's no point trying to stop it, you see.”_

At the mixing console, Luke was immediately struck with pleasant surprise as he watched this group settle down and fall into the music. Niall’s eyes were closed as he played, and he willed himself to put every ounce of passion and grit he had while writing the song into singing it. Harry’s brow was furrowed as he sang and graced the piano keys. Louis, Ashton, Calum, and El began to play on their own instruments perfectly as the song began to crescendo, the playfulness from earlier replaced by complete focus.

_“You're just like everyone_

_When the shit falls_

_All you wanna do is run away_

_And hide all by yourself_

_When there's far from, there's nothing else_

_When your mind's made up_

_When your mind's made up_

_There's no point trying to change it_

_When your mind's made up_

_When your mind's made up_

_There's no point even talking_

_When your mind's made up_

_When your mind's made up_

_There's no point trying to fight it._

_When your mind's, your mind_

_Love, love_

_There's no point trying to change it_

_When your love…”_

As the band moved into the bridge and break of the song, their sound was harmonious and powerful at the same time. Luke worked expertly across the different knobs and levers of the board, headphones over his hair, brow furrowed. The group leaned into the diminuendo as the song reached its close. The almost angry expression Niall wore on his face as he sang faded into one of peace.

_“So if you ever want something_

_And you call, call_

_Then I'll come running.”_

Niall exhaled as he finished the song. The reverie lifted and the band looked around at each other in awe at the perfect rendition. He turned to look at Harry and found him smiling at him with pure joy. From the other side of the window, Luke had his head in his hand, stunned, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

“Wow,” he said, turning on the PA. “That was _nice._ You write that?”

“Yeah,” replied Niall.

“Wow,” Luke said again, lost for words. The disgust and annoyance he originally held against the “amateurs” was gone. “Take a breath, we’ll go for another one.”

*****

When the group had finished recording all the songs they had chosen for Niall’s demo, they had cheered and decided to celebrate by getting cheap breakfast from the bakery down the street, but Harry stayed behind, claiming a cup of tea from the studio kitchen was fine for him. Once everyone had gone, he went back to the upright piano he’d used for the session, greeted it ‘good morning’ with a smile, and sat down at the bench. Harry ran his fingers over the shiny, white and black keys to remember the feel of the instrument. 

Harry had always enjoyed playing the piano - it was an versatile instrument that could take on many different personalities in a performance, whether it was acoustic and stripped down, or a boisterous accompaniment in a symphony. Most of all, it allowed him a space to think when he needed to be alone, and to express his feelings in such an automatic way as the use of his hands, and if need be, through song. There was nothing the piano couldn’t do.

He began to play softly, singing sadly,

“ _I'm in my bed_

_And you're not here_

_And there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands_

_Forget what I said_

_It's not what I meant_

_And I can't take it back_

_I can't unpack the baggage you left_

_What am I now?_

_What am I now?_

_What if I'm someone I don't want around?_

_I'm fallin' again_

_I'm fallin' again_

_I'm fallin'_

_You said you cared_

_And you missed me, too_

_And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you_

_And the coffee's out_

_At the Beachwood Café_

_And it kills me 'cause I know we've run out of things we can say_

_What am I now?_

_What am I now?_

_What if I'm someone I don't want around?_

_I'm fallin' again_

_I'm fallin' again_

_I'm fallin'_

_What if I'm down?_

_What if I'm out?_

_What if I'm someone you won't talk about?_

_I'm fallin' again_

_I'm fallin' again_

_I'm fallin'_

_And I get the feelin' that you'll never need me again.”_

Harry didn’t realize how into his song he’d been, and wiped some tears as he finished out the last chord progression.

“Hey, pet,” said a voice from behind. Harry turned quickly to face them, trying to hide his wet eyes. It was just Niall, standing in the door frame, hair ruffled and eyes beginning to show dark circles underneath, a telling sign of the lack of sleep over their twenty-four hour session. Harry’s heart ached at the sight, and he hoped he hadn’t been watching or listening for too long. Niall frowned when he saw Harry’s eyes. “Harry, are you okay?”

Harry quickly rubbed at his face. “Hi - yeah it’s all good,” he lied. He deflected again. “What about you, are you doing okay?”

Niall came to sit down next to him on the piano bench. “It’s all good,” he said, mirroring the brunette’s words.

“It sounds great,” said Harry, looking down at the piano keys.

“Real nice people, too, hey?”

“It will be hard for you to leave.”

Niall laughed. “Jesus, you’re always trying to get rid of me! You mustn't like me!”

Harry smiled. “I like you,” he said earnestly. “You know I like you.”

The blonde took Harry’s hand in his as it rested on the piano. Harry raised his head to look at Niall only to find that the blonde was already gazing at him longingly. His chest ached again. They stayed like that for a moment until Harry broke the silence.

“My wife called before I came into the studio today,” he said. Niall’s head fell but he kept his hand on Harry’s. “She is filing for divorce.”

Niall’s head snapped up again. “Jesus, Harry, I’m sorry,” he comforted. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s what we need. It is what Darcy needs - she needs someone who can be present for her. I’m going to go to Paris in a couple weeks to sign the papers and make it official,” Harry said wearily. His brow was furrowed. 

“You’ll be okay. If it’s for the better, then you’re making the right decision for yourself and your little one,” Niall replied, genuine, squeezing Harry’s hand. Niall’s mind wandered to the idea that well - he could be present for Harry and Darcy.

“You’ll be in New York by the time I come back,” Harry went on.

Niall let go of Harry’s hand then and put his head in his hands, exasperated, heat rising to his face. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Harry was genuinely confused.

“You’ve given me a new life and you’re a part of that life and you’re just pushing me away! Please don’t look at me and tell me you don’t feel it too.”

Harry frowned. “Niall, you have someone!”

“Well, maybe I do - I don’t know, I haven’t even talked to him in forever - but that’s not important!”

“It is unfinished between you.”

“And so what?!” Niall was seething.

Harry sighed sadly. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now. He couldn’t. “You cannot walk through your life leaving unfinished love behind you. You have all this heart in your songs and it is because of this boy in New York. It is for you and your love that we make this tape.”

“But what about us and this moment? Isn’t it unfinished?”

“We haven’t started anything,” Harry declared, and it pained him so bad to say. He could see it in Niall’s ocean eyes that he was stung.

Niall paused to regain his composure. “No? Well, it feels like we’ve started.”

The two of them stared at each other, Harry like a kicked puppy and Niall like a raging bull. It was silent. Niall took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Fuck, I’m saying this to you now because maybe I’ll never get a chance - but you’ve turned love around for me and you’ve done it in five days,” he confessed. “And yeah I wrote these songs at another time for another man, but when I sing it’s for us, I think - it’s you I see in the songs.”

Harry looked crushed by Niall’s outburst. “I don’t want you to talk like that,” he said, tearing up.

Niall was filled with desperation. “Why not?!”

For the second time that day, Harry let himself cry. “Because it can’t be about that!”

The anger left Niall’s body and was replaced by embarrassment, shame, and hurt. 

“Okay,” he said finally, and walked out of the studio.

*****

The cerulean waves and white foam of Howth Harbour sloshed on the sea boulders right under the gray stone walls of the village lighthouse that kept watch over the ocean. Everyone in Niall’s band (even Luke) leaned on the walls separating them from the enjoying the morning snacks they’d gotten from the town’s shops, but Harry and Niall stood on opposite sides of the structure. They hadn’t spoken since the studio earlier that morning. 

“You’re a lovely one, Liam,” Louis said, leaning his head on the banker’s shoulder and eating a large pint of cookie dough ice cream he bought from a street vendor even though it was 11 in the morning. “Kind. A little out of my league, though, honestly.”

Liam was staring out at the blue in front of them, but he smiled. “Well, you can only try,” he replied.

As Niall listened to the conversation, the hurt from earlier made his stomach churn.

“But how do people stay together? It’s a complicated business, this ‘love,’” Louis went on.

“That’s the problem, I suppose - love’s all very well, but in the hands of people it turns into soup,” added Liam.

“That’s often true. Still.”

It was quiet again, with nothing but the sounds of the waves filling the air and the occasional slurp of a soft drink in someone’s cup.

“Are you married, Luke?” Louis asked. Luke was a few feet away from the two, eating fish and chips and using the ledge of the lighthouse’s outer walls as a table.

“Yeah, I am actually,” he replied through a mouthful of food. “Sierra’s her name.”

“Still in love?”

“Yeah.”

“Fair play to ya, that’s great.” And Louis was sincere.

“It is, yeah,” Luke smiled.

“Good soup,” added Liam.

Ashton, Eleanor and Calum were leaning their backs against the lighthouse as they chowed down on eggs benedict. 

“Look at the city, just waking up,” Calum remarked to Ashton. “A new day. Dublin’s really lovely.”

“A million times heartbroken and Dublin keeps on going. You’ve got to love Dublin for dreaming,” replied Ashton.

Luke finished and threw away his trash in the designated bin then turned toward the group. “I better get goin’. You all made great music today. Really great. All of you,” he announced, grinning.

“Thank you, Luke,” said Liam.

Ashton, Eleanor and Calum straightened up from where they were reclining. “Uh, hey Luke, could we actually get a lift into the city with you?” asked Eleanor.

“Sure, where should I drop ya off?”

“Cabra would be great.”

“Sounds good,” said Luke. He turned to the gushy couple-not-couple. “You guys will be alright?”

Louis broke from Liam’s embrace for a moment. “I think we’ll walk actually, need to stretch me legs out,” he said. Liam nodded in agreement.

“Fair play,” replied Luke, waving to Niall, Harry, and Louis and Liam, before walking into the village with the three roommates, Calum and Ashton chatting away about how Luke should totally jam with their band in Australia sometime.

With just the four of the band left, Louis and Liam waved goodbye to Harry and Niall. “Got to open the shop. Though why I bother openin’ it up, I don’t know,” Louis groaned in half-joking annoyance.

Liam paused for a moment after they bid farewell to Harry and Niall, who were still on separate sides of the lighthouse. “I can give you some advice. Help you get those bastard bankers off your back,” he said to Louis.

Louis’ icy eyes bore into Liam. “Yeah?”

“You can’t have a city without music. Dublin needs you,” he stated. “And you need better marketing.”

Niall watched as the shop owner beamed at him in gratitude as if it was the only thing Louis ever needed to hear in his life. “Thank you,” he said finally, and wrapped his arms around Liam.

“Come on, let’s walk,” said Liam, smiling fondly at Louis and waving a final goodbye at the Frenchman and the blonde.

When it was just Harry and Niall left, the brunette skipped over to Niall to try and break the tension between them and. “Can I get one of those CDs? I knew we would make something good. Are you happy with it?” he asked, pointing at the small stack of unprinted, brown cardboard disc sleeves on the ledge of the outer wall. It was certainly a step up from plastic jewel cases, and Luke had given them digital copies to keep, too.

Niall couldn’t help but smile with self-pride. He’d finally _done_ something. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Hey, do you wanna grab some coffee or something? Maybe head back up to the hill?”

Harry looked down apologetically. What happened between them earlier was a thing of the past. “I have to give my mother a break with Darcy. I’ve already been gone for a whole day,” he said apologetically.

“Yeah, of course,” Niall said, looking toward the bay.

There was a silence between them again, but at least this time it wasn’t awkward or angry.

“So you’ll call Zayn tonight, then?” asked Harry.

“Yeah.” And while that had been the plan, the longing he’d felt for his lost love didn’t plague him like it used to. “Do you wanna come over later? Listen to the album, talk a bit?”

Harry chuckled. “A little hanky-panky?”

The blonde barked out a laugh. “No one calls it hanky-panky anymore,” he smiled.

The Frenchman feigned surprise. “Maybe that is why I can’t find any,” he joked back.

“Yeah, you’ve got to use a different word.”

“That is my problem!”

“Jesus, don’t say that!”

“Sorry!”

They stayed like that, laughing with each other with red faces in the mid-morning sun and the Irish ocean breeze surrounding them. For a moment, it was magic.

“Come to New York with me!” Niall prompted dreamily in the buzz of the moment. “Come on, we’ll write loads of songs together - live in a big flat, me, you and Darcy - it will be brilliant!”

Harry put on his signature lopsided grin. “We go to New York and we will tell no one! No one will ever be able to find us again!” he said, playing along, but the hope made him feel like he could explode.

“No one,” echoed the blonde. “And we’ll have a great band and we’ll sell out loads of places and it will be just great.”

“And we’ll make an album together,” Harry mused.

“Ah, man, I’d love that.”

“And I’ll play piano and do the backing vocals!”

“And it’ll be brilliant because it’s me and you!”

“It will be me and you and all this beautiful music.”

“Yeah! Come on! Come on, I’m serious!” Niall was facing Harry now, his blue eyes full of warmth and intense hope.

Harry paused and frowned and for a moment Niall kicked himself for trying, but he waited for the Frenchman’s response anyway.

“Can I bring my _mère_?” Harry asked, a teasing smile playing at the edge of his dimpled cheek.

Niall smiled and shook his head, chuckling to himself. Just like that, their dream evaporated. Life was too complicated right now to think about the possibilities and they both knew it.

“Will you call by later?” Niall asked, a smidge of sadness in his voice.

“I’ll be there,” Harry replied, smiling softly. Gathering his courage, he leaned forward to bring his hand to Niall’s face and plant a soft kiss on his cheek before walking back to the road leading into the village, not looking back.

*****

Bobby was supposed to be working on a customer’s vacuum that was due to be picked up tomorrow as Niall sat with him in the shop listening to the freshly recorded demo. Supposed to. Not even 30 seconds into the first song, his tools were laying on the table, the Hoover was still broken, and Bobby was in a chair next to the speaker, listening intently to his son sing, until finally the last track ended.

“So what do you think? It’s just a demo so it’s not perfect, but—” Niall started nervously. What others thought of him wasn’t as much of a problem for his self-esteem the way it had been when he was younger, but he valued his da’s opinion above everyone else’s.

“It’s fucking great,” said Bobby seriously, turning to face Niall.

“Yeah?”

“It’ll be a hit, no question - even I can see that - it’s magic, Son. Brilliant.”

Niall’s shoulder slumped in relief. “Thanks, Da.”

Bobby was silent in thought before speaking again. “I saw that ticket on the coffee table upstairs - says you’re flying out on Monday,” he said solemnly.

Niall hung his head. “Listen, I’ll be straight back if you need me for anything…” he began but Bobby stopped him.

“Don’t be daft, I’ll be grand,” Bobby declared, holding up his hand.

“Honest, da…”

“Go, Niall, do it,” said Bobby. They looked at each other with their identical teal eyes. “But if you decide to stay, don’t stay for me.”

Niall raised his eyebrow, but pretended not to hear it. “You sure you’ll be alright here all alone?” he asked.

Bobby chuckled and gave Niall a slap on the shoulder. “I’ve got a lot more life in me than I give myself credit for,” he explained.

“I know you do,” Niall responded, giving his father a genuine smile. Bobby hadn’t seen him so hopeful in almost a year, and his heart soared with pride.

Abandoning the vacuum at the worktable, Bobby rose from his seat and motioned for Niall to do the same. “Now, come on upstairs then. I’ve got something for ya,” he said.

They walked up the rickety wooden stairs of their flat into the kitchen, where the older Horan opened the miscellaneous drawer of trinkets and pulled out a small piece of paper - a check. He handed it to Niall without a word.

“Jesus, Da, this is loads!” gasped Niall, his eyes going wide when he saw the amount. He looked at his father in disbelief.

Bobby waved his hand to silence his son again. “It’s just money. You might need it over there - it’ll make you feel brave,” he insisted. “Take it, Nialler.”

Niall looked at the number on the check one last time, then threw his arms around Bobby. “Thank you.”

When they broke their embrace, Bobby looked him over again. “So how’s the heart?” he coaxed.

“It’s travelin’,” Niall replied, a smile slowly forming on his face at the thought of what was to come.

“It will all be great. Everything,” said Bobby, moving toward the kettle on the stove to make himself his evening tea. The only difference from this nightly routine was that he spoke with conviction and faith. “Just live, son. Make your ma proud. Now turn the speaker back on and play your songs again for me!”

Niall did as he was told as he laughed along his father boisterously and danced around the flat to the music _he_ made. He did that. Just then, the buzzer at the front door announced a visitor. Niall ran to answer it, and found Harry clad in his familiar black jeans and a new, oversized green and white plaid jacket.

“You came,” Niall breathed.

“I promised, _oui?_ I always keep my promises,” grinned Harry, hands in his jacket pockets.

Niall chuckled and motioned for the taller man to come inside. Bobby, ever a man of anticipation, had already made a cuppa for Harry by the time he and Niall arrived upstairs. 

“ _Bonjour,_ Bobby,” Harry greeted happily.

“Harry, lad!” said Bobby, eyes crinkling in a smile as he handed Harry an old periwinkle mug of earl grey and gave him a side hug so as not to spill the tea. Niall scowled lightly - he knew exactly what his father was doing, and he refused to enable it.

Just as the Frenchman and Bobby started chatting, Niall took Harry’s arm and pulled him away from the older man. “C’mon Haz, let’s not bother the old man now,” he said. Bobby frowned, but accepted the situation - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t play his son’s own game just a little bit.

“Alright, alright, just don’t you two be so loud this time,” he quipped, winking at them. Niall blushed furiously as he dragged Harry to his room. Bobby smiled to himself as he sipped his tea.

“So,” Harry began slowly as Niall closed the door to his bedroom. “When are you leaving?”

Niall sighed. He was beginning to resent how much Harry wanted him to be “happy.” He hated that Harry felt obligated to do all of this for him as a friend. It was just so strange still that to Harry, flying five thousand miles across an ocean for someone he wasn’t even sure would be glad to see him was the logical thing to do. Sure, he was more than grateful for the revitalization of his love of music, but even after confessing himself, Harry still pushed him away. And after the kiss Harry had left him with earlier that day on the lighthouse, being with him only felt more magnetic - but also left him more confused.

“My flight is on Monday around noon,” Niall replied solemnly, biting his lip. He took a seat at the desk chair near his window, avoiding the brunette’s gaze. Harry followed and sat on the edge of the bed.

Harry took in this information. “Did you call him?” he asked. His hands were still in his pockets.

Niall shook his head. “Been nervous about it all day, honestly.”

“Call him,” Harry encouraged. There was a sad smile on his face. “Is it always me that must keep you accountable?”

The blonde scoffed at Harry’s playful teasing. “Hey now, won’t have you treating me like your child on my watch,” he laughed. Harry raised his eyebrows and pointed at Niall’s phone without responding, which was resting on the unpainted wooden bedside table attached to its charger. Niall sighed dramatically, reaching over to grab it. His heart was racing as he scrolled through his contacts to find Zayn’s American number. It wasn’t something he’d quite memorized yet. It was 8:25pm; 3:25pm New York time - the time difference was one detail Niall definitely remembered. It seemed like a good time to call, as the Zayn that Niall knew enjoyed his Saturdays away from his students. His thumb hovered over the blue “call” button under Zayn’s contact photo, and he felt his chest tighten.

Harry watched Niall without a word, just curiosity. Niall looked at him and opened his mouth to speak but Harry interrupted him. “Press the button!” he urged.

The Irishman gulped and tapped on the button, placing the device on speaker (because he knew Harry’s nosy ass would want to hear Zayn’s voice) as soon as the familiar black call screen appeared. 

There was the sound of the first ring. Then the second ring. Then the third one, and Niall thought that Zayn wasn’t going to answer. The call began it’s fourth ring and then -

“Ni,” breathed an ever-familiar, soft and smoky voice. Niall gasped in surprise.

“Zayn,” Niall said dumbly.

“Hey there,” replied Zayn.

“Uh, is it a good time?” 

Zayn chuckled, and the sound tickled Niall’s heart. “You of all people should know that it’s a perfect time,” he said, and although he couldn’t see it, Niall knew he was grinning. Harry sat silently but listened intently. He felt a vague ache in his stomach as he processed the way Niall melted at the sound of Zayn’s voice. It was for the best.

“How is it goin’ over there?” Niall questioned.

“Honestly...I’m really missin’ you, like,” answered Zayn.

“I don’t know if the pretty bird on your Instagram would be happy to hear that,” Niall stated sadly.

“Bird— oh no, no, we’re not together anymore,” the raven-haired man corrected.

Niall paused. Oh.

“You’re actually missing me or are ya taking the piss?” he asked, looking at Harry nervously. The Frenchman gave him a smile and a thumbs-up.

Zayn sighed. “I’m very serious.”

“I’ve been missin’ ya a lot, too,” Niall acknowledged. There was a short silence on the other end. “Listen, I’m coming over there.”

The other man let out a surprised cough, reminiscent of the day Niall had first called to ask him out. Niall laughed. “You’re coming here?!? To Brooklyn?!” Zayn choked out.

“Yeah, but look, if it’s not okay...if you don’t want—”

“Just come!!”

“It’s alright then?” Next to Niall, Harry smacked his forehead and mouthed “Go!” at him wildly.

“Are you joking, Niall? It’s wonderful!!” Zayn burst. “When will I see you?”

Niall’s heart was beating out of his chest. “I fly into JFK around seven on Monday evening,” he replied.

“I finish my staff meeting at 5:30 and I’ve got someone handling the after-school program that day - I’ll meet you at the gate, just send me the details,” Zayn bubbled. “Oh, Niall, you don’t understand how happy I am right now.”

“Me too,” said Niall. “I’ll let you go but...I’ll text you, alright?”

“Of course, love,” said Zayn, winding down. “Talk soon.”

“Bye.” And just like that the call was over. Niall felt himself sweating all over, and for a moment it felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder as he came to. This was what he had wanted - a new hope for himself, a new beginning, and it was really happening. “Holy shit,” Niall slurred. 

“Are you okay?” asked Harry.

Niall stared at the corner of his bed. “It’s really happening,” he replied. Harry nodded in understanding.

“What are you going to do for your last day?” inquired Harry, bringing the blonde back to reality.

“Well, Da and I are gonna go to church together - haven’t gone in a while together and he figured I could use the blessings before I leave,” he said. “Gonna see Bressie, Eoghan and Lewis for pints in the evening, and Greg and Denise and the kiddo are coming in the afternoon.” He had another plan inbetween, but Harry didn’t need to know what it was yet.

Harry thought about all this. A small part of him was disappointed that tonight would be the last time seeing Niall for a very long time, but he pushed it away. “That sounds like a good way to say go,” he said softly.

Niall laughed. “It’s not like I’m dying, Haz,” he grinned.

The brunette smiled. “I know but still - I have quite enjoyed my week with you,” he said, twirling the rings on his fingers, avoiding Niall’s gaze.

“Hey, I’m always just a phone call away no matter how far I am,” Niall consoled. “We have plenty of time. We’re friends.”

Harry smiled. This was everything he’d pushed for - him and Niall being friends, and nothing but friends. It still hurt to know that there were other possibilities in the universe but he couldn’t stray away from his priorities, and he couldn’t distract Niall from his own path. “I’m glad the universe brought us together,” Harry said finally. “I’m glad you are sticking with me.”

“Me too,” replied Niall.

The air was silent, but not awkward. It was pleasant, even though there was a lot that remained unspoken. Harry changed the subject.

“I told my _mère_ about Camille,” he said.

Niall looked at Harry. “What did she say?”

“‘ _J_ _e savais que cette chienne avait du mal.’_ ”

“What does that mean?”

“‘I knew that bitch was trouble.’”

Niall snorted. Anne did not mince words. “Have you told Darcy?”

Harry’s smile at his mother’s comment faltered. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “We sat down with her today. Had Camille on FaceTime. I have never seen Darcy so...hard to read? She’s barely 4 but she is smart - she knows things. She is perceptive. I have never had to communicate with her in babbling baby talk, and I can predict how she will react accurately. But this - I don’t know what was going on in her head. She listened to Camille and I explain that we weren’t going to be together anymore and she asked some questions, then said nothing.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it - you can’t possibly know what’s going on with her all the time, all you can do is remind her that you love her and you’re there for her,” Niall said, his words giving Harry immediate comfort. “When my ma got her first cancer diagnosis, I was 14 and didn’t have a clue how to cope with it. When they told me and Greg, all I said was, ‘Okay,’ and then went on playing video games. Didn’t hit me until a couple months later once she started losing her hair, but the whole time Ma and Da just kept trying to reach out to me, and I’m grateful for that. Darcy will appreciate that, too.”

Harry sighed in relief. It always felt good to feel like he wasn’t a crazy parent. “Thank you for sharing that. Darcy’s so young so maybe there’s more time for her to heal and it’s not like Camille will be out of her life. It will just be different,” he said. He needed a moment to be snarky, though. “Though I have to say I cannot imagine that Camille only coming to visit on the weekends and me doing all the work will be much different from how it has been.”

The two of them laughed softly at Harry’s bitter humor for a minute, then things were silent again between them. With the night waning, Niall figured he’d get some things off his chest.

“Harry can I ask you a question?” he stared at the brunette intently. “A serious one.”

“Sure,” said Harry, meeting the Irishman’s teal, curious gaze and bracing himself.

“What changed after the night we slept together?” Niall asked - his tone told Harry that he’d been mulling over it for days. “Was it bad? Because, I honestly thought it was great so you can tell me if I wasn’t good and then aside from that, we were on one track, and then suddenly on another. And that other friendship track is worth more than gold to me but I can’t help wondering about the other, previous track—”

Harry barked out a laugh at Niall’s ramblings. “First of all, that night was amazing. That thing you did with your mouth made me lose my mind,” he replied seriously. Niall blushed cherry red. “But to put it very simply, just remember that I was - am - married and the timing isn’t right.”

Niall nodded. He didn’t forget about that marriage detail, but he admittedly ignored it for the most part. “Right, yeah,” he mumbled.

The brunette stood up then. “Like you said, we have plenty of time. But for now, we have to follow the paths that our lives place in front of us,” he said with finality, but not without a smile. Niall stood, too, knowing that their night was coming to an end. They walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs, careful not to wake Bobby, into the shop until finally reaching the door. Before he opened the door, Harry turned back to face Niall. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Just so you know, if the timing was right, I would not have switched the tracks.”

He turned the knob, squeezed Niall’s shoulder and walked out on the North Strand’s sidewalk, tucking his hands into his pockets and leaving the blonde in the doorway. But he just barely made it to the end of the pathway going from the front steps when he heard Niall calling out to him to stop and jogging to catch up. 

When Harry turned, he was met with Niall’s lips on his, desperately wanting to hold on forever. It was sudden and unexpected, but not unwelcome, and on instinct, Harry took his left hand out of his pocket, wrapped it around Niall’s waist and pulled him in closer. The blonde brought his hands to Harry’s neck as he kissed him deeper, his scruff scratching his chin. 

Unlike their first kiss, this wasn’t heat-of-the-moment lust. It was pure and sad and soft and hopeful and fierce and lamenting all at the same time and Niall’s heart was bursting at the seams with all of those feelings. If he was going to be away from Dublin for almost a month and pursuing love with someone entirely different from Harry, then he needed to do this just once.

When Harry and Niall broke apart, they were both breathing heavily and flushed and staring into the other’s eyes like love drunk teenagers. If Niall’s heart weren’t so full, he’d be embarrassed. “Thank you for everything, Harry,” he said finally, letting his hands drop. He just noticed how chilly the night air was, and how he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

Harry smiled, removing his hand from Niall’s waist. “Thank you, too,” he replied, gave Niall one last short kiss on his lips, and walked to the bus stop back to Cabra. As he watched him get further and further away, Niall hoped the feeling of Harry’s lips on his would last forever.

*****

“Oi, oi, Nialler!” Louis called as the bells above the shop doors chorused in sweet chimes with the blonde’s entry. “How’s gettin’ ready for ya big move?”

It was Sunday afternoon and Niall had made time to come by in between spending some time with his brother, Denise, and his nephew Theo and going out for drinks with the boys. There were some new additions around the shop - a couple eye-catching sale posters in the windows, clean banners indicating which section of the shop was which, and even flyers advertising Tommo’s Place’s fresh presence on social media. Niall was proud to see he’d taken Liam’s advice to heart - he’d make a sale in no time.

“Stressful, if I’m bein’ honest,” Niall replied, greeting the spunky shop owner with a hug. “But making my rounds!”

“Honored that you thought of me!” Louis chirped happily. He was in a fantastic mood, and Niall backtracked on his previous thought - Louis definitely made a sale today already, and his energy was infectious. “What can I do for ya?”

He and Niall walked over to the cherry studio piano Harry so enjoyed playing at when he could; the one he promised he’d buy if he ever won the lottery. They bowed to the instrument and greeted it with a happy ‘good afternoon.’ Once the formalities were finished, Niall placed his hand on top of it and declared, “I want to buy this piano.”

Louis was puzzled for a moment. “But you’re leaving tomorrow - what are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s not for me.”

Louis’ jaw dropped, then turned into a grin. “You devious, lovely bastard,” he smiled, but there was no bite to it. After a moment, his expression was serious. “You know the price, though, right? Worst comes to worst, Liam’s been helpin’ me put together financing options...”

Niall dug into his messenger bag and pulled out the check Bobby had given him and handed it to Louis. Taking one look at the piece of paper in his hands, Louis lost control for a moment and threw his arms around Niall, peppering his face with kisses and squeezing the air out of his lungs. Niall laughed, full of joy and squeezed the shop owner back.

When Louis finally let go, he led Niall to the register to get the purchase finalized. “Special instructions for delivery then?” he asked the blonde.

“Surprise him,” answered Niall. “And wait until after I leave - I fly out tomorrow at noon so anytime after that.”

Louis handed him a receipt and nodded. “Harry is real lucky to have you,” he stated, raising his eyebrows. “You sure you can’t stay?”

Niall shook his head, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. “The timing isn't right, so we’ll just have to wait and see,” he told Louis. The shop owner shook his head in understanding.

“I suppose,” he replied. “Well, you’re all set, Niall. I can’t thank you enough - things are really turnin’ around here.”

Louis went in for another hug, softer this time. Niall had spent the week thinking about how the universe had brought Harry to him, but he hadn’t even realized just how grateful he was for the people that followed. It was crazy how things changed in less than a week. He and Louis had solidified a real friendship. “Don’t you forget about me now,” Louis said softly.

“Could never forget someone as annoying as you,” replied Niall, earning him a nipple pinch from the shop owner as they laughed, walking toward the door of the shop, stopping just before the exit. “Besides, I can only be in America for 90 days without a visa. I’ll be back.”

“Take care of yourself, alright?” said Louis. Niall nodded and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’m expecting a bucketload of ‘I heart NY’ souvenirs and real New York pizza when you get back!”

The blonde couldn’t help but cackle at Louis’ feigned ever-ridiculous requests, but figured he’d get something for him anyway. With one last parting embrace and murmured thanks from Louis, Niall left the shop and took in the cobblestone streets of Dublin for what would be the last time for a while as the autumn sky turned shades of pink and lavender with dusk.

*****

When Harry got off the bus on Monday evening after his shift, he was greeted by Eleanor and Darcy, a bright grin on his daughter’s face as she ran to him, full of excitement. Eleanor laughed as Harry picked the little girl up and pulled her into his arms.

“ _Papa!_ ” she screamed in joy as Harry tossed her in the air and threw her over his shoulder. His heart savored moments like these, knowing that one day Darcy would be her own woman, and if the last four years had taught him anything, it was that time flew by too quickly. Four years used to feel like forever - Harry remembered the days where he couldn’t wait to grow up. Now the baby he held in his arms just yesterday was an energetic toddler with a strong personality on her own.

Realizing Eleanor’s presence, and the strangeness that anyone had been there to meet him at the bus stop at all, Harry calmed Darcy down and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“El, what is going on?”

“We thought you’d want friendly faces to walk home with after a long day at work,” said Eleanor calmly, but Harry knew lying wasn’t her strong suit - she always preferred to either speak her mind or stay quiet. He frowned at her as her attempted poker face began to crack. She wasn’t looking him in the eye.

He turned to Darcy, who suddenly hid her face in his shoulder. “ _Qu'est-ce qui se passe, ma vie?” What is happening?_ he asked, but she only wrapped her arms around his neck tighter.

Eleanor sighed. “Just walk with me,” she said seriously, turning on the heel of her leather ankle boots. “And when we get to the door, I’m going to need you to put that ugly bandana you have tied to your bag over your eyes.”

Harry pouted. He quite liked the bandana’s green argyle print, thank you very much, but he obeyed anyway. Despite El’s lighthearted insult, he followed her down Navan Road to their shared flat, Darcy in tow.

Eleanor stopped at the doorway and turned to face the Frenchman. She kept a straight face, but it was clear in the way her brown eye sparkled that she was excited about something. “Okay,” she said. “Put the ugly bandana on.”

Harry let Darcy down onto the sidewalk, and began to expertly untie the bandana before her father could. She motioned for him to crouch down and pulled the scarf over his eyes while he finished up the tying. His vision was now nothing but a dark green tint.

“Alright little lady, grab Daddy’s hand, and I’ll take the other,” Eleanor said to Darcy. Harry’s heart raced as they led him into the house and up the stairs (an admittedly difficult journey with his lanky legs and height difference between himself and Eleanor and Darcy). They paused for a moment so that El could open a door, and then he was pulled inside. Harry’s chest was beating faster as the possibilities of what could be behind the blindfold ran through his head.

Finally, Eleanor placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder to stop him from moving further, and Harry felt both hers and Darcy’s hands leave his. 

“Take off the blindfold, Hazza!” she squealed happily. “1, 2, 3!”

When the bandana was off, he was met with grins and joyous cheers from Anne, Darcy, El, Ashton, Calum, Louis and Liam. And right in the center of the living room was the upright cherry piano he so loved playing at Louis’ shop, topped with a giant red bow. Harry’s jaw dropped.

“I...what...how..? _Oh mon Dieu,_ ” Harry stammered, happy tears beginning to form in his eyes. Still in shock he rushed to the piano, touching it, moving his hands over the keys - he had to make sure it was really the one, and it was. “Hello, beautiful.”

But he didn’t understand - who paid for it? How did it end up here? Who was he supposed to thank for this gift? How would he ever repay them? He looked at Louis, who didn’t even need to hear the question to know exactly what the Frenchman was thinking.

“A certain bottle blonde songbird bought it,” Louis answered, hand in Liam’s. He was smiling from ear to ear, icy blue eyes crinkled at the sight of his dear friend so happy. “His way of thanking you for everything.”

Harry had no words. And he couldn’t help it, but he let the tears of joy fall as his heart warmed at Niall’s gesture. There was so much happening at once and so much had happened over the past week and his heart was full. “Thank you, all,” he said, tears running down his face. Darcy ran to her father and he scooped her into his arms again. The rest of the group moved in to give Harry the group hug he needed. “I do not know what I did to deserve such people like you in my life.”

As he embraced his friends, he couldn’t help but keep thinking how it felt like Niall was missing - like he should have been there to see this moment. Harry missed him. But he was somewhere in the clouds, in a big plane, on his way to get the love of his life back, and Harry had his own obligations to focus on. 

Stepping back from the group, Harry snapped a picture and attached it to a text to Niall with “!!!!” and “I can’t believe you!!!!!” and a million follow up thank yous, smiling to himself and then letting himself join his friends in opening up a new bottle of wine and taking a seat at the shiny piano he could now call his own.

*****

John F. Kennedy International Airport was...fucking huge. And Niall could feel the nerves rising from his stomach to his throat as he tried to follow his fellow passengers from the arrival point to Terminal 5’s baggage claim while hoping to God he wouldn’t get lost, carry-on suitcase and messenger bag in tow.

The flight itself hadn’t been that bad - he was definitely a little scared as a first-time flier (What if the one time he ever got on a plane would be his last?) (Where do I check in, what the fuck is pre-clearance, oh God, I look stupid), and sitting in the same position for seven hours straight was mildly uncomfortable, but not unbearable. When it came time for meals, he was expecting ‘How about that airline food?’ crap but was pleasantly surprised that the grilled chicken and veggies from the tin foil container had flavor, and he took full advantage of the complimentary bar service with a good old-fashioned plastic cup of beer. And while the occasional turbulence set him on edge, Niall thought he did a pretty good job of holding it together, considering the circumstances - once he’d looked out the window and seen how small Ireland was and how the shape of the Earth changed so drastically throughout the journey, Niall was reminded that maybe there really was more for him out in the big world.

But now Niall could feel the anxiety pinching at his guts as the airport’s white tile floors and the white, fluorescent-lit corridors and endless new combinations of escalators and ramps and turns blended together. He was really here in New York. It was really happening. This was the first time he’d ever been outside the UK, and now he was simply gonna try to get famous and start a whole new life here. Niall wished his brain would stop bringing that up as if he hadn’t been thinking that same repetitive thought for the last four days, but still, the memory of Bobby, Greg, Denise and little Theo waving goodbye at him from the security checkpoint at Dublin Airport’s Terminal 2 was something he never thought would ever happen - and that was just a week ago.

Finally after what seemed like eons, a ramp opened up to a bigger room full of silver conveyor belts and hordes of stressed-out passengers looking for their bags. Niall spotted his Aer Lingus flight number at one carousel and walked over, hoping all of his luggage made it to America in one piece.

Once he’d found his guitar case and the raggedy old gray suitcase Bobby had found in the storage closet (“Me and your ma shared this on our honeymoon!”), Niall realized that now the next step was actually leaving the airport. 

Moving to the wall away from the chaos of people fighting for their bags and taking his phone off of airplane mode, he was suddenly bombarded with a million messages and notifications. One, in particular, from Harry, who’d sent a photo of his brand new piano surrounded by his flatmates, his family, and Louis and Liam, with follow up ‘thank you’ texts and emoji-filled angry texts at the amount of money Niall had spent. 

Niall laughed to himself, filled with a silent pride that he’d been able to provide something that Harry really wanted. It really was the least he could do. Ignoring the wall of ‘wtf’ texts from him, Niall simply replied with _“:) ur welcome,”_ following it up with _“just landed ! not dead !”_

Bringing his head back to the goal of getting the fuck out of this airport with too many people, he tapped on Zayn’s texts.

 **_Zayn:_ ** _just got off the E train, gunna hop on the airtrain and meet ya at terminal 5 xx_

 **_Zayn:_ ** _anddd i just realized you probably don’t know what any of that means and you have other things to do first when you land, so just call me when you can aha x :)_

It was good to know that at his core, Zayn was still the same goof. Smiling to himself and heart racing, he hit ‘call.’

“Ni!” Zayn’s voice rang through the headphones in Niall’s ears. “You made it!”

Niall was grinning now. “I did, yeah. Just don’t know where to go from here,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m at Terminal 5’s baggage claim now, just got me stuff, where are ya?”

“I’m by...door number three, entrance B? Not sure if that’s close to you,” Zayn replied with uncertainty.

Niall walked over to the exits and compared the signs at the top, struggling to keep all his baggage from rolling away and kicking his heels, while following the numbers as they went backward from six, until finally, he saw a familiar, lean man with quiffed raven hair and a signature black leather jacket and combat boots with his phone to his ear, turned in the opposite direction.

“Look behind you,” said Niall, and on command Zayn whipped around, letting his phone away from his head at the sight and running toward the blonde and pulling him in for a hug. Niall melted into it - he missed this feeling. He missed Zayn.

He breathed in the familiar but much more muted scent of cigarettes and Versace cologne in Zayn’s neck as he wrapped his arms around him. It was like old times.

“It’s really good to see you, Niall,” said Zayn, pulling away and taking in the sight of the blonde. “You’re wearing your glasses. Your hair’s down and your roots are showing,” he observed, not unkindly.

Niall looked down bashfully at the attention. “Yeah, figured I’d change things up,” he replied. “Take more chances and all that.”

Zayn smiled and reached out to touch Niall’s hair. The blonde leaned into the touch. “I like it,” Zayn grinned. “Well, let’s go then - figure you probably want to rest after the flight. We’ll take an Uber back to Bed-Stuy so you’re not trying to fit your bags on a rush hour subway.”

“I thought you lived in Brooklyn? What’s a bed stye?” Niall asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Zayn laughed. “Bedford-Stuyvesant is my neighborhood in Brooklyn. Kind of like how Glasnevin was our neighborhood in Dublin,” he explained, taking the hand-me-down suitcase from Niall and rolling it out of the sliding doors into the chilly New York evening. _Our neighborhood,_ Niall thought to himself, remembering their old flat.

“Shit, I’ve got a lot to learn then,” Niall remarked, following Zayn as their Uber pulled up to the curb, and placed the luggage in the trunk. 

Settling into the car, Niall watched intently as Zayn pointed out the geography of Queens and Jamaica Bay and the different landmarks and sleek buildings dotting the shoreline, the vehicle speeding through the Belt Parkway. It was so different from Dublin’s blend of ancient Celtic architecture with modernist buildings and coastal charm.

Niall tried to pay attention as Zayn excitedly gave him a tour from next to him in the backseat. After all, this city was going to be his new home - he’d better get to know it.

*****

“Niall, this is amazing,” Zayn said, beaming and sitting at the minimalist wooden dining table he shared with his two other roommates, eating from Chinese takeaway containers. Niall’s demo was playing over the Bose speakers.

To say the least, Zayn’s place in Bed-Stuy, tucked in a brownstone, was a lot nicer than their old flat. Niall couldn’t help but think it was very much suited for Zayn’s personality, from the single brick wall in the living room, triple bay window overlooking the street below, fresh white walls, Ikea furniture, and bookcases with enough space to hold a considerable library. And of course, he had a little corner just for his art.

Niall blushed at the compliment. He didn’t quite know where he and Zayn stood at this moment - Harry had made it sound so easy to just leave Dublin and declare his love and run away into the sunset. In reality, it kind of felt like walking on eggshells. “Thanks,” he said softly, focusing his attention back on his container of lo mein. _All of these songs are about you,_ Niall wanted to say, but didn’t. 

“Really, it sounds beautiful - you’ll get snapped up in no time by the big guys once you start sending it,” Zayn went on. He was genuine - he was always so genuine. Niall looked up from his food to see the raven-haired man smiling at him fondly. “I always knew you’d make it.”

Niall felt like he was melting. He was still reeling from the shock of the constant change in scenery, and hearing Zayn’s voice in front of him - it was so much to take in. It took him back to the good old days. Niall and Zayn had agreed to Niall staying two weeks at the flat before he’d have to find somewhere else to stay while he figured things out. He’d have to figure out what to say to Zayn in that time. 

“You always believed in me,” Niall replied, bringing himself back to reality. “Thank you for that.”

Zayn smiled again. Niall could read Zayn like a book, and he knew that although he didn’t say anything, his actions showed he was glad to see Niall following his dreams. It sent a burst of pride running through Niall’s veins. 

The music continued to play as the pair finished their dinner. Finally, Zayn got up to clear the table, and when he finished cleaning up, he turned to face Niall as the demo closed out. “You know, you don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he said matter-of-factly.

Niall looked up from his phone, confused. He’d been texting Harry updates. “Where else am I going to sleep?” he asked incredulously.

Zayn took a deep breath. “Like, you can sleep with me, in my room,” he said. And _oh_ , Niall thought. _He was serious_. Niall felt like his heart stopped.

“Oh,” replied Niall dumbly. It was the only thing he could think to say.

Zayn sighed and looked away, before looking straight at Niall and biting his lip. “I mean...Niall, am I reading this wrong? You come to New York full of songs and you wanted to see me, and honestly, I just haven’t been able to get over you - I still love you. You being here, this is something I only dreamed about,” he breathed. “So I’m going to wash up, and get ready for bed because I have to leave at 5:30 to make it to Tribeca in time for school to start. But my door is open.”

And with that, he finished putting away his dishes and walked down the hall to his room.

Niall was speechless. But with a sudden burst of confidence, he rose from the kitchen table. He left his phone which was buzzing with notifications, didn’t bother with changing into pajamas, and followed to Zayn’s room, where he had been changing. He stepped in gingerly and drank in the sight of Zayn shirtless, with new tattoos he hadn’t seen before. Bold as ever, Niall stepped forward and pulled Zayn into a kiss, both of them letting any inhibitions go as they shut the door and rolled into the bedsheets, eager to pick up where they left off.

But as Zayn muttered affirmations of love, Niall found that he couldn’t quite say it back, even as he sucked lovebites into his skin.

Throughout the next week, they had a routine. Zayn would leave early in the morning for the school day, Niall would do research on the record companies based in New York once he’d left. He set up a Spotify profile, posted his demo on Soundcloud and YouTube, an Apple Music account - all the stops. He sent endless emails to executives and branding managers (occasionally even getting an email or phone call back) and amped up his social media presence. With the extra time he had, Niall would get a feel for the subway, the buses. He explored Brooklyn, accidentally fell asleep on the subway and ended up in the Bronx, and visited tea shops in Manhattan while on FaceTime with Harry (because he wasn’t about to be on that hipster shit coffee bandwagon just because he was about to be a real New Yorker). He talked to his Da every night just to make sure he was okay (“No, Nialler, I’m absolutely dying from the overwhelming amount of business we’re getting from old Mrs. Hopper down the road,” Bobby would sigh at him sarcastically). 

He did visitations at cheap apartments and met potential roommates, and by the time Zayn would come home in the evening, they’d eat dinner and move back into the bedroom, careful not to disturb Zayn’s roommates, and falling asleep with Niall’s arm draped over Zayn’s waist.

It was good. It was pleasant, and it was nostalgic. But to Niall, something about the situation felt wrong, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. They hadn’t really talked about what was happening after Zayn’s admission. It felt like ZaynandNiall _should_ have come naturally, and yet, it seemed like a facade. Niall couldn’t place it.

“So what you are telling me is that although you have fulfilled your dreams of sweeping your prince off his feet, having amazing sex every night with the love of your life, and singing beautiful songs in the city that never sleeps, you feel... _odd_?” Harry said drily to Niall on FaceTime one late afternoon after the blonde had spent 20 minutes trying to work out his feelings into words. The sky outside the bay window was melting from clear blue to a darkening mauve. 

“In short, yes,” replied Niall.

Harry scowled, visible even through the pixelated screen that was struggling to hold a connection.“You know what your problem is?”

“Enlighten me, Harry.”

“You are an overthinker. You distrust the universe, you think it’s out to get you all the time and that you do not deserve to be happy. You think when something good happens to you, it is not real,” said Harry seriously. He wasn’t being rude or saying any of it to be mean, necessarily, but Niall still felt absolutely read anyway. “You need to stop and sniff the roses, Niall. Smell them. Breathe them in. Listen to what the universe is really telling you.”

Niall snorted, but still took a minute to let Harry’s words seep in. Just a few moments later, he heard a key slide into the key jamb and the doorknob at the entrance of the apartment turn. Zayn walked in, a cup of coffee still in his hand as if it was five in the morning and not five at night.

“Hey,” Zayn greeted Niall cheerfully, walking over to the couch to give him a kiss. “Who’s this?” he asked, turning his attention to Niall’s FaceTime call. Niall was suddenly very self-conscious about Harry’s presence in this moment. There was just something about the different histories he shared with both Zayn and Harry separately that made this moment the worst possible scenario to him.

“Oh, this is Harry, the friend I always talk about,” said Niall, hating himself for making it weird and for not holding his tongue. “Helped out with everything - booked the studio, helped record the demo, convinced me to come here to you.”

“Hello, Harry,” Zayn waved at the camera. “Thank you for bringing Niall home to me.”

Even through the blurry video quality, Niall could pick up that Harry looked slightly uncomfortable. The way his emerald eyes very briefly widened when he watched Zayn kiss Niall told the blonde everything without saying a word. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him for it.

But Harry composed himself expertly. “It was my mission to make it happen,” he said simply. “He was in a terrible state when I met him. Like a lost puppy.”

Niall laughed softly as Zayn smiled and pulled him into his arms. It was so on-brand for Harry to expose him like this. But the moment was being dragged out, so he decided to close it. “Well, that’s enough then. Zayn and I have to go eat dinner, but I’ll talk to you soon, alright, Haz?”

Harry smiled flatly. He seemed hurt? But Niall couldn’t understand why he would be - there was nothing he said that could’ve personally offended Harry, but he let it go. “Yes, I’d better not keep you two then,” Harry responded. “Me and Darcy are leaving for Paris tomorrow to...you know, so I might not be so responsive. But yes. We’ll talk soon.”

He smiled, waved, and ended the call before Niall could respond. It was odd from Harry, but he knew it would be useless to press further until Harry felt comfortable telling him. Niall sighed and cuddled into Zayn.

“How was your day?” Niall asked, nuzzling his face into Zayn’s neck and kissing it, trying to avoid the questions about Harry that he knew would be coming eventually.

“The usual, you know, great kids, shit administrators, but another one for the books,” Zayn replied nonchalantly, leaning into Niall’s touch. “Harry seems really nice.”

Niall cringed internally. “Yeah, he’s great.”

“What’s he going to Paris for?”

“Ahh…he’s gotta sign divorce papers,” Niall replied sadly. “Wife wasn’t pulling her weight with their kid among other things.”

Zayn hummed in acknowledgement. “Sad to hear,” he said, then shifted the subject. “How was your day, babes?”

Niall was glad for the change. As he rattled on about the progress he was making with labels and phone calls, the realization began to settle upon Niall about how much he enjoyed talking about Harry - the itch to relate everything about himself to the ridiculous, long-haired Frenchman to anyone who’d listen never left him. 

He realized Harry was wrong - at least in this situation. Niall didn’t distrust the universe and he didn’t think it was out to get him like Harry said. He knew he deserved to be happy, and that he definitely wanted to stop and smell the roses. 

He wanted a single rose, but it wasn’t in New York.

*****

Harry and Camille sat across from each other in the waiting area of Malakoff’s small _arrondissement_ notary office in their most professional outfits as they waited to be called in by the notary. Camille had been accompanied by her lawyer, a small and uptight-looking woman wearing a drab, gray skirt suit, and Harry was accompanied by his own, a young and clearly fresh graduate dressed to the nines. Camille’s lawyer matched the dreary interior of the building. Harry couldn’t help but think that even on the day of their divorce, Camille still looked beautiful as ever, honey blonde hair tucked behind her ears but her expression cold and hard as she scrolled through her phone.

Despite the feelings of nostalgia that came with seeing his soon-to-be ex-wife, the reality of being a divorced dad was no longer foreign and unappetizing to Harry. In truth, things wouldn’t be all that different from the life he and Darcy had forged in the last four months. The only difference now was that a huge burden was about to be lifted from his shoulders. Over the last few weeks into planning the trip back home, the bitterness had slowly left Harry.

For the first time in a very long time, Harry and Camille were on the same page. Though she seemed closed-off from where she was sitting, they were on relatively solid ground. They agreed on the settlements outlined in the suit without too much conflict: reasoning would be irreconcilable differences, they would have joint custody over Darcy but Harry received full physical custody (which Darcy didn’t contest), Camille had visitation rights. They didn’t argue over alimony, and though there was a little bump about the case of their physical separation, Camille’s lawyer assured that it would work out once the notary spoke to both of them one-on-one.

Harry tapped his foot in anticipation as he waited. The seconds to freedom seemed like eternities. Finally, a tired-looking, stout, middle-aged man wearing a suit the color of charcoal opened the door to the office, letting out a former couple that barely acknowledged each other as they exited. He looked down at his clipboard.

“Camille Pourcheresse-Styles?” he called into the waiting room. 

Camille stood from her seat. She looked at her attorney, who gave her a nod, then took a moment to glance at Harry. He gave her an empty smile and looked back down at his phone as she followed the notary into the hearing room for their interview.

With Camille out of the vicinity, Harry was again alone with his thoughts. In just about twenty minutes, his marriage would be over. Staring at the bland, white tiles of the floor, the entire length of their relationship played out in his head. He fell for Camille so quickly after they’d met, not once did he ever think that his star-crossed love would die in a gloomy notary building with the flick of a pen and the pound of a gavel. That was real life, he supposed. For all of Harry’s faith in true love and the universe’s ways, in this moment, the rules he wanted so badly to apply to everyone else he met didn’t apply to him. But he refused to let it break his spirit.

Ten minutes later, Camille emerged from the room and the notary called on Harry next. Rising from his chair almost robotically, this time he didn’t stop to look at Camille. It would only reopen the wounds he’d spent the last month trying to mend.

The interview with the notary was a blur. Harry went through the motions like they’d rehearsed with the attorney, confirmed the details of the asset split, stated that he agreed and accepted the terms laid out in the settlement. And reiterated that there was absolutely no chance at working things out with Camille.

Once the entire mind-numbing process was completed, the attorneys and Camille were called in, the papers were signed and notarized, and just like that, Harry Styles was a single man. The ex-couple thanked their lawyers, who went on their way, and Camille and Harry found themselves out on the cobblestone street, no longer married, but realizing that they still technically shared a flat that Harry had to move out of.

“So it’s really over now,” Harry said awkwardly, breaking the silence as the two of them walked to their home. The late October air was beginning to bite, reminiscent of the first night Harry spent at Camille’s apartment after missing his train.

“ _Ouais,"_ replied Camille, hands in the pockets of her trench coat. _Yeah._ Neither of them looked at each other as they continued down the street.

They were silent as they turned the corner to their block and Camille opened the door to their flat. Harry’s shoulders fell and his expression soured as he took one look around the apartment and realized he didn’t recognize half the shit that was taking up the space he still helped pay rent for. His vision went red at the edges. 

When Harry and Darcy had moved, they’d taken most of their things with them - the essentials. There wasn’t a lot left that he had to take with him, but the sight of someone else’s - a man’s - laundry littering the living room and decor that Camille wouldn’t have picked on her own, the very idea of someone living rent-free in _his_ apartment - it caused Harry to seethe.

“Camille,” Harry choked out, walking through the living room and the kitchen inspecting the new additions.

“Henri, _s'il vous plaît_ ,” said Camille, knowing exactly what Harry’s reaction was going to be.

“Is he living here.” And Harry honestly did mean for it to be a question, but the anger building in his chest as Camille’s actions continued to twist the knife in his stomach turned it into an observation instead.

Camille sighed and looked at the ground. “He’s not fully moved in, Theo was going to wait until after the divorce,” she replied, not meeting Harry’s gaze.

Something inside Harry snapped. 

He’d been holding in his wrath for so long, he had tolerated so much but he was free now - he clearly didn’t have anything left to save with Camille and he could, for the first time in years, speak his mind to her without being afraid of offending her. Harry no longer had any real obligation to Camille except to co-parent. It finally dawned on Harry how he had let himself be walked over, how all this time he had just wanted to be kind to others, to not be defined by his tragedies, to be the provider for someone the way his father couldn’t and instead it had ended with him being taken advantage of. He was _done._

“You really have no sense of fucking consideration or accountability,” Harry sneered, pupils blown wide. He ran a hand through his hair as he put on a fake saccharine smile. “You are selfish, vain, and opportunistic...you don’t give a shit about anyone except yourself. Does it ever occur to you before you do anything that your actions will hurt people? I can’t believe I spent 700 euros on your stupid camera, nearly worked myself to death for you, and we weren’t even together yet.”

“You _chose_ to do that, Henri. I never forced you. You can’t possibly still be upset about that?!?” Camille interjected, cheeks reddening.

Harry laughed. He guffawed. “You think that’s why I’m angry?! Camille, you never even thanked me for the camera. I had no money, but I bought you food every day. I gave you everything,” Harry scoffed, clenching his fists, tears forming in his eyes. “You work, but you can’t be bothered to get to know the child you so wanted to have. Darcy barely knows her mother. I paused everything for our family. I gave up grad school - my _dreams_ \- because I loved you and I love Darcy so much. And to think even before we left for Ireland you were already seeing someone else. As soon as we were gone you were fucking him in the home we built that I’ve still been paying for, in the bed we shared...have you no shame? You should have just spared me the pain and told me you wanted to leave. You should have thought about the consequences of your actions years ago.”

Camille was silent, tears rolling down her cheeks as her ex-husband continued his barrage. Harry couldn’t stop, he needed to vent five years of frustration in this moment because he was truly unsure of when he would have this opportunity again. “I don’t care for your excuses anymore. I don’t care about your crocodile tears. The only thing you have ever been sorry about is getting caught, so please don’t give me an apology just because you feel like you have to,” he said with finality. 

He moved from his place in the kitchen to grab what few possessions he had left around the flat. Camille choked out sobs from her seat in the living room, and she was still there when Harry returned with his things.

Harry turned to look at Camille. She looked small from where he was standing. She looked pathetic with her head in her hands.

“You know, I fell in love with someone in Dublin,” he said softly. Harry was calmer now as the gravity of his heartbreak began to settle in his chest. Camille still wouldn’t look at him, but he knew she could hear him. Whether or not she was actually _listening_ was a different story, but it didn’t matter so much anymore - he just needed to say his truth. “I fell in love with someone else, someone who wanted me, and I have been so wracked to my core with guilt about it because I didn’t want to hurt you, and I pushed him away. Now that I know what you’ve been up to, I know how much of a mistake that was.”

Camille finally looked up at Harry from her trench coat stained with tears. “Henri, I did love you. I love Darcy. I am so, so grateful for our time together—” she began, but Harry just shook his head.

Harry pulled the black duffel bag holding the last of his life with Camille over his shoulder. He threw his keys on the coffee table in front of his ex-wife. “If you are ever in Ireland, you can visit Darcy on weekends,” said Harry, putting on the same business-like tone Camille did when she had called and asked for the divorce. “We’ll expect child support payments on time, and I hope you will at least try to remind your daughter that you exist. Other than that, you are free to finally do what you want.”

The blonde woman scowled at him, but Harry, unfazed, turned for the door, stopping just before he could open it.

“And Camille?” he called, turning his head over his shoulder.

“What.”

“ _Va te faire foutre_.” _Go fuck yourself._

Camille flinched as the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the dull white halls of the flat. 

*****

  
Niall was ready for another rejection email at the top of his inbox as he sat inside Luv Tea in the West Village, sipping on a hot organic rose goji tea. He knew his friends back home would think a six-dollar cup of _organic rose goji_ tea would be so pretentious-New Yorker of him, but Niall had found that other tea places in the city were either reservation-only high tea houses that he couldn’t afford, or Starbucks, and he quite liked the selection that Luv had and the free-to-roam, friendly atmosphere that allowed him to get work done without any distractions. The atmosphere was always quiet and respectful, and the painted white industrial brick walls, soft minimal lighting and wooden floating shelves clad with traditional Taiwanese ceramic teapots cultivated a sense of purpose and relaxation in him. 

It was an almost forty minute ride on the C train from Bed-Stuy, but the quality of the tea and the environment were worth the trip. Niall thought that if he ended up staying in New York, he’d come here all the time. Maybe one day if Harry ever came to visit, Niall would bring him here. Darcy would probably enjoy it too, he thought. The design of the cafe was curated but still had a sense of playfulness that made it visually appealing for kids.

Niall also liked Luv Tea because the pretty decor and handmade-with-luv drinks made the rejection emails and auto-replies easier to swallow. He’d been there so often over the last week and he supposed he must have been terrible at hiding his disappointment because the owner had come around to giving him free shots of ginger tea every time he finished reading a bunch of rejections at once.

Scrolling through his emails, Niall tried to push all those thoughts out of his head and instead think of the warmth and sweetness of his tea so that he could bury deep the feelings of discouragement that followed every, “We regret to inform you,” “Thank you for reaching out to us, unfortunately…,” and “You are very talented, however.” 

But halfway through his inbox, he noticed an email from a Maeve Bradley at Rubyworks Records with the subject line “Niall Horan Demo Interest.” It was so nonchalant and so similar to the auto-replies that used his original subject line that Niall actually almost deleted it. His eyes went wide and his heart raced as he clicked on the email, realizing he hadn’t sent anything to Rubyworks Records (Niall made a spreadsheet so he could keep track), so this couldn’t be a reply.

“ _Hi Mr. Niall Horan,_

_I hope you are well! My name is Maeve Bradley and I am a Promotions Intern at Rubyworks Records in Dublin, Ireland. Our roster currently includes Hozier, Eve Belle, and Wyvern Lingo, and previously included Sinead O’Connor and Ryan Sheridan. I am reaching out on behalf of the label manager here at Rubyworks. I stumbled upon your music on Soundcloud and I was impressed. After taking a look at your Instagram, I realized that I have seen you perform as a busker around Temple Bar, so as part of my job, I let my supervisor know about you and have been given the approval to reach out to you directly._

_We are interested in local Irish talent, however, we noticed that your social media appears to indicate that you are now located in New York City. Despite this, my managers are still interested in meeting with you - virtually, if more convenient!_

_Please let me know if you are interested and I will be happy to assist in setting something up!_

_Looking forward to hearing from you,_

_Maeve Bradley_

_Promotions Intern_

_Rubyworks Records”_

After reading the email, Niall thought he could cry. He tried to ignore the irony of an Irish label (and not just any label, _FUCKING HOZIER’S LABEL_ ) reaching out to him as he tried to settle down in another country. Gulping down his tea, he quickly composed himself so that he could type out a proper, professional reply. All those business writing classes in uni weren’t for nothing after all. Realizing that it was already ass o’clock in Dublin, he settled for saving it as a draft so that Zayn could proofread it when he got back to the apartment.

“ _Hi Maeve,_

_Thank you for reaching out to me - I appreciate your kind words. Your observation is correct, I am just settling into New York, but I would be honoured to meet with the Rubyworks team!_

_Please let me know what day and time works best - my availability is open._

_Thank you again,_

_Niall Horan_ ”

Niall hoped that would be enough, but trusted Zayn’s smarts to let him know where he could improve. He closed his laptop and put it back in his messenger bag, then texted Harry the great news. As Niall was getting up from his spot at one of the little wooden tables, one of Luv’s servers brought over a paper takeout cup of hot tea.

“Oh, thank you,” Niall replied, surprised. “What is it?”

“It’s a custom blend of Darjeeling black tea with cinnamon and cardamom,” explained the server, a petite girl with shoulder-length black hair. “The owner asked me to bring it to you.”

Niall frowned. Why would the owner be making a custom tea for him?

“That’s really nice of her,” he said earnestly, pulling out his wallet, but the server stopped him.

“No, no, it’s on the house,” she assured gently. “The owner said you’ll need it - this tea is considered lucky in some parts of the world and she said drinking it brings wealth and opens doors. I feel a little weird being the messenger of this, but she said that you’ve seemed really sad every time you’ve come in but today you looked hopeful so she wanted you to have it so you could keep smiling.”

The Irishman was dumbfounded. Niall didn’t know what to say, and he was again a little embarrassed that he kept wearing his emotions so clearly on his sleeve. But he was thankful for the gesture. 

He took the tea from the server and thanked her profusely, tipped her anyway, and walked out into the busy West Village, thoughts of a future of good fortune and success on his mind.

The subway ride back to Brooklyn was filled with visions of a future of sold-out shows and top-charting records. Niall was sipping his lucky tea and texting Harry, who was still in Paris, about how excited he was for the new developments - he wanted to tell the Frenchman everything. Without missing a beat, Harry responded with notes of pride and “ _I told you so”_ for good measure.

“I have news,” Niall called out to Zayn when he arrived at his apartment, pulling him into a kiss at the kitchen table.

“So don’t just stand there, let me know!” Zayn beamed through the attention Niall was giving him.

Taking a seat next to Zayn, Niall was struggling to hold in his excitement, but he calmed himself down and took a deep breath.

“A label reached out to me. Not just any label, Rubyworks Records, Hozier’s label. _Fucking Hozier!_ And they want to meet with me!” 

“That’s amazing, babes,” Zayn congratulated, taking the blonde’s hands in his. “You’re gonna say yes, yeah?”

“I wrote my reply out but I didn’t send it yet,” explained Niall. “Was wondering if a certain super-smart top-tier teacher could proofread it?”

Niall was giving Zayn his best blue-eyed puppy dog look - he knew the Brit couldn’t resist.

“Of course,” Zayn conceded, kissing Niall’s hand.

“It’s a bit tough, though - they’re Dublin-based and want Irish talent but if they’ve got world-famous Irish artists then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Niall went on, the word vomit starting to come out. One could practically see the daydream in his eyes as he spoke. “Harry says I’d be crazy not to go forward with it even if I’m trying to get everything done here…”

At the mention of Harry’s name, Zayn’s face fell. “You told Harry before me?” he asked.

The question snapped Niall out of his thoughts. “What?”

“You told Harry before you told me,” the dark-haired man repeated, this time as a statement instead of a question. His hazel eyes were sad.

“I...babe, I just wanted to give him an update,” Niall stammered, tilting his head. He was confused. Why did this small detail bother Zayn so much? Harry wasn’t the point of the conversation, the point was this new development in Niall’s potential music career - the fact that he told a friend before his boyfriend seemed insignificant. Couldn’t Zayn just be happy for him?

Zayn sighed. “Right, yeah, of course,” he said, crossing his arms. It seemed like he was only trying to convince himself. “Uh, I’m gonna head to bed early. I’m not all that hungry.”

He got up and began to make his way down the hall. The way the conversation played out left Niall with whiplash. “Oh..alright,” he replied.

“Love you,” Zayn mumbled.

“Yeah,” said Niall, still unable to say the words back as Zayn disappeared down the corridor.

A small wave of nausea settled into Niall’s stomach. He recognized this feeling - it was the same feeling he got when he and Zayn’s relationship took a turn for the worst the last time. It was the feeling he got when he knew that there was no going back.

This time, he knew why, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it - though of course, he’d have to eventually. Niall was wiser now, and he knew that avoiding it or trying to change the things he couldn’t would just prolong the pain for both of them, and like the last time, he knew that he loved Zayn enough to want to let him have what he deserved. 

Niall wasn’t what Zayn deserved. Zayn deserved better, someone who would take care of him and be his equal and love him to hell and back and they would both have to accept that.

Opening his laptop, Niall went and proofread what he’d written in the reply to Maeve himself. Once he felt it was the best it could possibly be, he hit ‘send’ and put his laptop away again. Alone in the kitchen, Niall heated some leftovers and ate in silence. He cleaned himself up and followed to Zayn’s room, where the other man lay sleeping. 

Niall climbed into bed with him, holding onto what he knew would be one of the last few moments they would have like this. And when he woke up in the morning, Zayn was already away at work, leaving Niall alone in an empty bed with nothing but his thoughts and the choices he would have to make.

Niall couldn’t tell a lie. When he saw the notification on his phone that Maeve Bradley had replied to his email as he got ready for another trip into Manhattan, he yelped like a little girl. He was filled with relief when he realized the apartment was empty, and did a little happy dance as he finished brushing his teeth.

He waited until he was settled into a table at The Strand, an iconic bookstore on Broadway that he’d been wanting to visit, to finally open the email and process it. 

“ _Hi Niall,_

_That’s so good to hear! Would you be available at 10AM EST/2PM GMT on Thursday for a one-hour call with the team? We figured it would be the best possible time to balance out between New York and Dublin._

_Let me know!_

_Best,_

_Maeve”_

Thursday was tomorrow, Niall realized. He quickly responded to confirm the time, and like clockwork, Maeve sent over the Zoom call details. 

He was so close to making his dreams come true.

The rest of the day came and went - Niall strolled through the bookstore, he grabbed a five-dollar halal platter for lunch, and took a walk through the farmer’s market at Union Square Park for the rest of the afternoon before going back to Bed-Stuy. The booths of artisanal items made Niall smile to himself - the bohemian crafts and vintage decor that gave the market some variety aside from the local produce reminded him of Harry. It was exactly the Frenchman’s style.

When Zayn got home in the evening, the tension between him and Niall still lingered from the night before. The two of them ate in silence before the blonde spoke.

“I’ve got a call with Rubyworks tomorrow morning,” he said after a mouthful of grilled chicken.

Zayn looked up from the spot on the table he’d been staring at. “You didn’t wait for me to proofread your reply?” he asked, visibly hurt.

Niall frowned. “I couldn’t wait, Zayn...this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Zayn looked back down at his food. “Of course,” he said. He paused and pushed at the food on his plate. “Sorry. I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you.”

The dejection on Zayn’s face broke Niall’s heart. He knew Zayn had always simply wanted the best for him. But sometimes he’d felt smothered by Zayn’s standards. Sometimes it was hard to keep up.

When it came time to clean up the table and head to bed, it was silent like the night before. There wasn’t much said as the couple washed up, and when they climbed into bed, it was another sexless night and a lonely morning for Niall. At the very least, there was a “good luck” text from Zayn.

He cleaned up to get ready for his video call with Rubyworks, opting to stay in Zayn’s room with its quiet and white walls, and solid WiFi rather than risk a train delay into Manhattan and a spotty connection and loud customers at a cafe. Plus, if they asked him to do some kind of on-the-spot performance, Niall would rather not bother anyone, especially if he ended up being pure shit.

Niall’s nerves were on fire as he opened the call details that Maeve had sent and clicked on the joining link. He hoped they wouldn’t be able to tell that he was sweating through his Eagles t-shirt, and that he didn’t look crazy or awkward or unprofessional or lazy or weird or whatever other connotation the A&R’s would think upon seeing his face.

“Hello everyone!” Niall greeted the camera cheerfully once his video feed was loaded. On the other side of the screen was a conference room and table with a platinum blonde girl with heavy eyeliner who couldn’t be more than 20, a tall man with salt and pepper hair in a cream suit and a white t-shirt who looked to be in his forties, and a brunette woman who looked about 30 and wore a stern but kind expression and a soft pink striped blouse. Whoever these people were, they weren’t as intimidating as Niall had expected, and it helped calm his anxiety.

“Hi Niall!” said the young blonde girl with a distinct Dublin accent. “I’m Maeve, it’s good to finally meet you!”

“Hello!”

Maeve went ahead with the introductions. “This is Glen Walsh, our Label Manager, and this awesome woman is Cara Ryan, one of the artist managers here!” she said, pointing at the older man and then the older woman who both waved at the mentions of their names.

“Great to meet you all,” said Niall. Though he wasn’t nearly as nervous as he was before he hit ‘join,’ he still felt the anxious sweat prickling his back. “It’s an honor.”

“Oh, that’s real kind of you, Niall, but please, it’s always an honor for us to meet new talent!” Glen said jubilantly, Cara and Maeve nodding in agreement. “So tell us a little about yourself.”

The meeting was going well - it was like a job interview. And although Niall hadn’t had one of those in years, he tried his best to be confident and cool, and also answer their questions as honestly as he could. They asked Niall to sing and play, and he obliged with the best renditions of a couple songs off the demo that he could muster, trying to remind himself to be authentic.

When Niall finished, Glen and Cara excused themselves from the conference room to discuss a little more, and he was left with Maeve, who was taking diligent notes.

“So you’ve seen me play on Fleet Street?” he asked her to break the silence. Through the slightly blurry screen, she lowered her head bashfully. 

“I go to Trinity College so my friends and I go down there every now and then,” she replied. “I always see you in the same spot but last year there was a day I went alone because I really liked your voice when I went the day before.”

Niall tried not to let himself get overconfident as he swelled with pride, and let Maeve continue.

“You probably wouldn’t have recognized me, my hair was dark blue last year. But yeah, I stayed to listen for like thirty minutes and then dropped twenty euros in your case,” she attested.

“That was you?!?” Niall blurted, eyes sparkling in pleasant surprise. “I remember thinking you made my day but you just smiled and walked away.”

Maeve blushed. “You deserved it. And then when someone I follow shared an IGTV video you posted on their story and with the fact that I work at Rubyworks it was just an amazing coincidence,” she bubbled. “I just _had_ to bring it up to Glen and Cara.”

“Well, it’s a lovely coincidence, indeed,” Niall responded. His heart was bursting. _Take that, Harry!_ Niall thought to himself. _I do trust in the universe!_

Just then, Glen and Cara walked back into the conference room. Niall braced himself.

“So, Niall, we love your music, we love your style. You’re massively talented,” said Glen, resting his hands on top of a stack of papers in a manila folder. Niall waited for the rejection that usually followed the bright compliment in the reply emails. If this wasn’t the one, at least he could say he made it this far. “But we still wanna meet with you a little more to discuss your branding.”

Niall released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The relief he felt knowing that this wasn’t the end of the road was unlike anything he’d felt before. “No, yes, of course!” he replied, trying to regain his composure.

“I know you said you’re just settling into New York, but if it’s possible, we’d love to meet with you here in Dublin before we move any further. And we normally don’t put that second meeting on the table for very new artists without a huge social following, streams or gig experience, but Cara and Maeve are convinced you’re worth the risk,” Glen continued. His voice was serious and his tone was all business but he was genuine. “And honestly, I think you are, too.”

“Of course! When would ya like to meet?” Niall asked. His brain was running a mile a minute with his options. He didn’t think he was urgent enough of a priority to meet too soon, and he figured the Rubyworks people were busy with other talent clamoring for their money and attention. Niall figured they’d schedule for a month from now once he was settled and had some form of income and a permanent place to stay.

“How’s next Wednesday?”

Oh. Niall wasn’t ready for that. “I-...that’s very soon,” he stammered.

Maeve looked away from the camera, pretending to compile her notes. 

“Well, I hope you can understand our schedules are very busy. And we really want to get to know you more before deciding to move forward,” Glen explained. “We know it’s short notice, but we think you could be great.”

Niall knew what Harry would do. He’d kick him under the table like he did at Liam’s office when they applied for the loan, tell him he’d be crazy not to take this. But Niall didn’t have the money to fly back and forth to New York whenever he wanted. He’d used up the check his da gave him to buy Harry’s piano. Bobby was right when he said that the money would make him feel brave, because right now, Niall was scared shitless.

But he knew he didn’t have the leverage to negotiate. And that was okay.

“I’ll be there,” Niall declared with full confidence. Fake it ‘till you make it, he thought to himself. Maeve looked back up in shock but quickly composed herself.

“Great! Maeve will work out the details,” Glen beamed. “I’ve got a good feeling about ya, Niall. Looking forward to meeting you in the flesh!”

They closed off the call in a blur, and when they finished chorusing their well wishes for a good day, Niall fell backward into the bed, heart racing. He had a lot to think about. He and Zayn had a lot to talk about. There were no promises with anything - with his relationship, with his career. But the big decisions that had been haunting Niall for the past few nights were beginning to show themselves in the light. He had to stop running.

He texted Harry a quick note that the call went well. Niall didn’t realize it had only been an hour - the Zoom call felt like a whole day. So he grabbed his dad’s old denim jacket and his headphones and took a walk around Bed-Stuy, breathing in the late autumn air and hoping it would clear his mind. He didn’t know where exactly he was trying to go, he just needed to be in the sunlight with his music. 

When it got close to evening, Niall circled back to Zayn’s brownstone, stopping for pizza along the way for dinner. He knew he and Zayn would have a lot to talk about that evening. With his two week allowance at Zayn’s place coming to an end, and their shaky ground, it was gonna be tough. But Niall knew better now, he knew continuing to dance around it would hurt so much more in the long run. He was tired of being passive - it was time for him to make decisions for himself.

By the time Zayn got home, the plain pizza was already laid out on the table and the plates were set. Niall didn’t need to ask Zayn how his day went - his dark undereye circles and loosened tie betrayed anything he could say to hide the fact that he was glad tomorrow was Friday. He sat down opposite Niall at the table.

“We should talk,” the couple said in unison. They smiled bashfully at the moment before letting the gravity of the discussion they were about to have sink in.

Zayn took a slice of pizza. “You go first,” he said, not unkindly.

Niall took a deep breath. “The Rubyworks call went really well,” he started.

“That’s really great,” Zayn replied with genuine happiness. “That’s amazing, babes.”

“Yeah,” the Irishman breathed. “They want me to come to Dublin next week to meet in person and talk more about my goals and stuff.”

Zayn’s face fell. Slowly, he lowered the pizza onto the plate. The tension in the flat was so strong Niall felt like he couldn’t move. Before he could put his thoughts on the literal and metaphorical table, Zayn interjected.

“I think you should do it,” he said simply.

“What?”

“I said, you should do it. The way you’re saying it, I know you’re not asking me for my permission. This is you telling me you already said yes,” Zayn spoke matter-of-factly, but it wasn’t in anger. "And I know you’re going to say that you don’t know how you’re gonna get there but you’re Niall fucking Horan - you’ll find a way.”

Niall was flabbergasted. This wasn’t what he ever had in mind when he imagined a significant other knowing him so well. “Well, yes,” he said dumbly. 

Zayn took a bite of his pizza, smiling bittersweetly. Niall didn’t know what to say, so he followed suit in silence.

“Nialler,” Zayn finally spoke again, almost at the crust of his pizza.

“Yeah?”

The raven-haired man took a shaky breath before continuing. “You don’t love me.”

The pizza fell from Niall’s hands as Zayn’s words hit him. “That’s not true,” he tried, but he wasn’t fooling Zayn.

“You don’t have to lie, Ni,” said Zayn listlessly. There was no anger in his tone. “You haven’t said it back to me once since you’ve been here - don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re never fully present. Not with me, at least.”

Niall was dumbfounded. “Zayn-”

“Maybe I was a fool to think things would be the same as they were, but Niall...I’m just helping you stay warm at night. You love me, but not the way I love you. And you definitely don’t love me the way you love Harry.”

Zayn’s hazel eyes were filled with sadness - it reminded Niall of the way they had come to agree to break up the first time. But this time it was different because Zayn looked like he had accepted the reality already. This would be the last time they broke each other’s hearts.

“I don’t love Harry-” and again Niall was mostly trying to convince himself. He could no longer pretend like the Frenchman wasn’t on his mind at any given moment. It wasn’t fair to Zayn.

“You do, and I can’t compete with him,” replied Zayn, shaking his head. “I feel like I’m fighting for you but you aren’t able to fight for me anymore. You talk about him all the time, your eyes absolutely light up when you do. Anyone who listens to your music and knows he was a part of it could hear your connection. Those love songs aren’t for me. Sing them for Harry. Sing your truth.”

Abandoning his cold pizza entirely, Niall got up from his seat and walked over to Zayn, taking his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it with his entire heart.

To Niall’s surprise, Zayn rose and pulled him into his arms, burying his face in his shoulder. Niall wanted to cry but couldn’t find the tears, and instead wrapped his arms around the other man. They didn’t have to say anything more. If there was one thing the two of them had always shared so well, it was the unspoken. The acceptance of the fact that they had both changed as people didn’t make him any less sad, though.

The next morning, Niall called his da to let him know what happened. To Niall’s surprise and relief, Bobby wasn’t mad - “Why the fuck would I be mad at ya for experiencing the world?” - and sent him some money to help pay for the plane ticket. He spent some time being sad in his group chat with Bressie, Eoghan and Lewis and like the best friends they were, they flooded him with memes he didn’t understand and words of encouragement. He backed out of the apartment visits he had scheduled and let landlords know he wouldn’t have a decision for a while, and went and got a haircut, finally getting rid of most of his dead, blonde ends. And he didn’t tell Harry he was coming back to Dublin. He would cross that bridge when he got there.

On Sunday night, almost two weeks after Niall had first arrived at JFK, Zayn dropped him off for his flight back to Ireland. To Niall’s relief - and Zayn’s too, he was sure - the weekend wasn’t tense. Sad, sure, but Zayn and Niall always seemed to end on solid ground. Their love would live forever in memories, and there was no weirdness when they decided to be friends because it would be genuine. They would always have each other’s back. 

Niall appreciated this - they may not have been right for each other, but they would always respect each other.

Before Niall could head off into Terminal 5, he and Zayn shared Taco Bell that they’d picked up before calling the Uber to the airport, since they knew once they got to the security checkpoint, only Niall would be allowed in. 

“You know, I’m still glad you came,” said Zayn over his chicken quesadilla. “A lot really can happen in two weeks.”

“Got back together with my ex, check; got this close to signing a lease in the hipster capital of the world, check; got noticed by a major record company, check; broke up with that ex, check,” Niall cackled, cheesy gordita crunch in his free hand. Zayn whacked him on the arm as they laughed at the absurdity of their timeline of their rekindled relationship.

The moment they shared eating together felt like true friendship. When they tossed out their garbage, it finally began to dawn on them that Niall’s flight was in less than two hours. They stood together at the belt dividers that separated the general check-in area of the airport departures from the restricted sections for ticketed passengers, hesitant to face the moment.

“You have everything?” asked Zayn, taking a deep breath.

Niall looked around at the bags surrounding him. “Think so,” he replied.

“Message me as soon as you can after you land, alright?”

“Yes, of course.”

There was a pause as the former couple struggled to find the right words to say. Zayn sighed.

“Harry’s a real lucky guy,” he said finally.

Niall chuckled. “He’s not mine yet,” he said, smiling. There was still a huge possibility that even with the amount of faith he had in his decisions, things could go wrong.

“But he will be, and you’ll be his,” Zayn hummed. “Anyone who turns you away is a fool. I count being loved by Niall Horan as one of the best times of my life.”

The Irishman laughed and pulled Zayn into a long embrace. They didn’t need to say anything more - their love and support for each other was clear as day. And they both knew that this moment wasn’t goodbye forever.

Once they were satisfied with their “see-you-laters,” Niall was a man with a new mission as he walked through the checkpoint, passed through his gate, and after checking in with the flight attendants, settled himself into the tight, economy-class seat on the plane. His thoughts were racing with the possibilities that were in front of him - his whole life was changing so fast.

As the plane rose 33,000 feet in the air, he drifted to sleep, visions and memories and hopes of Harry filling his thoughts.

There was a newfound sense of purpose in Niall when he landed in Dublin on Monday morning. He was home. New York was an amazing city that he’d found himself beginning to feel accustomed to, but there was something about being there at that moment in time that didn’t feel quite right - if things went well with Rubyworks and his career took off, Niall promised he’d back for sure. 

When Bobby picked him up from the airport, Niall’s heart felt comfortable as he watched the motorway melt into the easy, simple neighborhood of the North Strand through the window. On an early morning on a Monday, the kids were walking to school, mothers were socializing on their steps, folks were waiting for their buses at the stops to get them to the greater city for work. New York and Dublin were very similar, Niall realized: they were both cities of sacrifice, always moving in their own way. 

But with all of Niall’s high regard for the city itself, there was nothing quite as relieving as walking into the little Hoover shop and up the stairs of the flat above. The jetlag began to show itself once he saw the familiar dark blue walls of his room and gray sheets, everything exactly the way he’d left it. It was only disturbed when the blonde sat down to rest his legs. Niall had a plan to execute later that day, but for now, he let his exhaustion win as he fell forward into his bed, guitar still comically strapped on his back.

When Bobby finally made it up to Niall’s room with his luggage not long after, he smiled endearingly as he took the guitar case off his son and replaced it with a fleece blanket. He understood the toll the last two weeks had taken on Niall - he could bust his balls about making the old man bring the bags up later. Leaving a glass of water and some biscuits on the bedside table, Bobby shut off the lights and closed the door, leaving his son to his dreams.

*****

As he walked from his bus stop after work, Harry was convinced he was hallucinating when he looked up and saw a man leaning on the railing of the steps of his house that kind of looked like Niall. He shook the thought out of his head. This guy had brown hair. It was probably another of the tenants, or maybe someone was expecting a guest. It couldn’t be any guest of Anne’s, that much Harry knew for sure - she’d taken Darcy into town after the little girl got out of school.

Plus, Niall wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another few weeks, and that was assuming he couldn’t get a permanent visa or a record label didn’t pick him up. Harry kicked himself for thinking about him - lately it seemed like he saw Niall in literally anyone on the street, especially since his arrival from Paris. Of course, it was never actually him. On top of that, Niall would definitely tell him if he was coming home. They talked every day. Niall was out living his best life getting no sleep in the city that never sleeps.

He had almost completely dismissed the man on his steps as some rando, who was dressed in a dark blue jean jacket, a white t-shirt, skinny gray jeans, suede brown ankle boots and clubmaster sunglasses, passing him to get to the door without a word. It was like being a kid in school again, Harry thought. When you have a crush on someone unattainable so you have to pretend like they don’t consume your thoughts all day. Except this person on the steps wasn’t even the right person, which made the whole thing worse.

Harry was fumbling with keys to go inside when he heard his name in a familiar voice and the keys fell from his hand.

“So you’re just gonna ignore me?” the voice said, and Harry’s heart stopped. It couldn’t be.

The Frenchman turned around slowly, and once he was facing the guest on the steps, the other man took off his sunglasses in a way that Harry really shouldn’t have been so attracted to. His mouth dropped open as he realized that it really was Niall, and he hadn’t been going insane after all.

Harry was speechless.

“Is it always me who has to start the conversation?” asked Niall with a smile, blue eyes shining, throwing Harry back to the day he found the courage to approach the sad busker on the Fleet Street. 

“I am sorry, I honestly did not believe it was really you with the new hair and all,” Harry replied finally after he found his voice again. He frowned suddenly. “What are you doing in Dublin?”

“I didn’t tell you, but Rubyworks wanted to meet in person, so I’m going in on Wednesday,” explained Niall. Harry frowned at the fact that Niall had omitted this tidbit from their text conversations. The Irishman took a deep breath before continuing. “Also, Zayn and I broke up.”

“What?? Why?!” Harry was disappointed - maybe his sense for these things was wrong. He spent so much time convincing Niall that Zayn was his One True Love, just for Niall to end up alone again. A pit formed in his stomach knowing how much Niall had invested into New York. “ _Mon Dieu,_ I’m so sorry.”

Niall exhaled. “Let’s go inside, it’s getting chilly...I’ll explain,” he faltered. Picking his keys up from the ground, Harry let them inside and led him up to the currently empty flat and closed the door behind him.

Harry didn’t take a seat once they were inside. His nerves wouldn’t allow him to. He just kind of stood awkwardly in the space between the tiny living room and the kitchen and watched as Niall walked in and greeted the new piano, which was positioned perpendicular to the lone window in the living room overlooking the street.

“So you two are done?” Harry asked finally. His limbs finally decided they wanted to move, so he moved to the piano. But he was still an awkward distance from Niall.

Niall sighed. “It was mutual,” he said seriously. He took a seat at the piano and ran his hands over the keys. “We weren’t right for each other. We’re still friends, but...it’s not the same.”

The Frenchman scoffed. “Well, of course it will not be the same, Niall! You cannot expect relationships to be the same the second time around - there is history, people change—”

“Yes, exactly, people change,” interrupted Niall, but it wasn’t rude or aggressive. He looked up from the piano to face Harry, whose expression was unreadable. Niall sighed again and stood up from the piano bench. “Harry, you’re not getting it.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What am I not getting?”

Niall stepped forward with a surge of confidence. “I’m not in love with Zayn,” he said. Harry’s heart began to race and his legs started to feel like gelatin. “You and me talked a lot of shit before I left about the timing but I know you feel it. I’m tired of the excuses and the reasons why I shouldn’t, but Harry - I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I’m tired of not being able to do anything about it. I’m tired of not telling myself the truth. And I’m tired of you denying yourself the kind of love you want for others but don’t think that you deserve. You don’t have to make any sort of decision right now, and I don’t want you to, because I’m sure this is a lot on top of everything else, but I needed to say it. I need you to know. I love you.”

It felt as if a burden had been lifted from Harry’s shoulders hearing Niall’s admission. Again he lost the ability to form real words and just stared longingly into the Irishman’s eyes. His mind was filling again with what to do with the information he was just given, but all he knew was that for the first time, everything seemed clear. Niall began to look nervous.

“Uh...if you could say something that would be nice,” prompted Niall nervously. “I crossed an ocean to tell you this so...is all of that okay with you?”

“Fuck, sorry,” said Harry, snapping out of his thoughts. He stepped into Niall’s space, the tension having left a long time ago, and took Niall’s face in his hands. I felt natural to be so close to him like this, and it was relieving to _let_ himself feel everything he felt. “My answer is _moi aussi._ ”

“What does that mean?” Harry could feel the warmth of Niall’s breath as he spoke. His blue eyes seemed to shimmer with anticipation. He was so beautiful.

“It means, ‘I love you, too,’” the Frenchman replied, leaning in to close the space between them with a kiss, Niall’s hands coming to rest on Harry’s waist.

Harry had shared a handful of kisses with Niall up to this point: hot and rushed the first night they spent together, soft and sexy the morning after, a featherlight brush on Niall’s cheek at Howth Lighthouse, passionate and full of longing right before Niall left for New York City. Harry remembered each of them vividly, and this time he knew would be no different, because it felt complete and honest. No more secrets, no more hiding - it was real now. He was tired of fighting his true feelings, and now he didn’t have to anymore.

It was what he was meant to have for years.

When they finally pulled away, Harry’s heart was overflowing as he took in the sight of Niall in front of him - bright eyes, swollen lips and ruddy cheeks. He was his. Niall smiled and pulled him closer.

“So now what?” Niall asked, locking his hands around Harry’s waist.

Harry moved his hands to wrap around Niall’s neck. “I want to be with you. I want us to be together.”

A look of relief and joy passed over the Irishman’s face. “Yeah, I would love that, petal,” he laughed, and he kissed Harry again. Harry could feel him smiling against his lips and the joy in his heart was unmatched.

“I am sorry, by the way,” said Harry after the new couple parted again.

“For what?” Niall asked incredulously.

“For pushing you away,” explained Harry, staring ahead at the blue sky outside, the late autumn evening beginning to make itself known. “You made me want something better for myself and I did not know how to handle that. I got used to denying myself simple pleasures for the sake of someone else who took that and dragged it through the dirt but I kept going back anyway. Here I was feeling so guilty for falling in love with you but then she was having an affair without shame well before.”

Niall shook his head. “Please don’t apologize for that,” he told Harry, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Look - I can’t promise you the world but I promise that the last thing I’ll ever do is take advantage of your good heart.”

Harry felt like he could cry. A part of him still felt as if he didn’t deserve this good thing, but if he wanted to believe in the universe working in the favor of others, he had to put his faith in the universe working out for him, too.

“ _Je t’aime plus chaque dour_ ,” Harry whispered, gazing intently at the Irishman in front of him. “I said that to you at Howth Head.”

Niall looked confused but then his face lit when he remembered the day. “Yeah, and you never told me what it meant. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I told you that I love you more every day.”

Harry had never meant anything more in his life. Niall looked as if he was mulling over the words in his head for a moment.

“ _Je t’aime plus chaque dour,”_ he repeated to Harry, and though his pronunciation was off, Harry felt the intention in his bones. “You should teach me more French.”

Harry perked at the suggestion. “I can do that,” he said, glancing back over at Niall. He flicked his darkening emerald eyes to the Irishman’s neck. “A lot of it starts from just listening, though.”

Niall’s breath hitched, realizing where this conversation was going. “I can listen,” he said softly, spine straightening as Harry moved his hands along the lapels of his jacket. He moved away just to close the curtains of the living room window. When he returned to the piano, Niall was still leaning against it as if Harry had never left him. Harry’s sense of shame left him. He was ready to let himself enjoy things.

Closing the space between them, Harry leaned into Niall. “ _Je t’aime de tout mon coeur,_ ” he whispered, placing a soft kiss full of the words he’d wanted to say for almost a month on the outer side of the Irishman’s neck. “ _Je suis fou de toi_.”

“Harry—,” Niall whimpered, but he faltered when Harry brought his hands to his neck again. Pressing him against the cherry-stained piano, the curly-haired man brushed his lips against his ear.

“ _Tu es magnifique comme ça_ , _je t’adore,_ ” Harry said, biting the lobe of Niall’s ear. He felt the other man shiver underneath his touch. It was satisfying. He could feel everything - the air moving around them; the rhythm of Niall’s breathing; the heat pooling in his stomach; the electricity of Niall’s touch as he brought a hand to Harry’s face, imploring him to really _look_ at him.

Locking eyes, Harry felt exposed. Their clothes were still on, but his guard was down for the first time in so long and the realization drove Harry wild. Niall’s pupils were blown and he was looking at Harry through heavy-lidded eyes - they were normally a soft blue, but in this moment a million storms raged behind them.

“Harry?” Niall asked, grabbing Harry’s hips. His voice was hoarse with desire. Harry had gotten back to work leaving love bites in Niall’s pallid neck. He hummed in response. “Harry, turn around.”

Harry did as he was told. Niall pressed him against the back of the piano and Harry could see the black and white keys below. His vision was hazy with the pure lust building inside him as Niall’s calloused fingers played with the bottom of Harry’s shirt.

“How do you say, ‘I want you’ in French?” wondered Niall aloud, peppering kisses along Harry’s neck and jaw.

“ _J’ai envie de toi,_ ” Harry replied. His chest felt like it was going to explode, and he felt Niall hardening behind him.

Niall ran a finger down Harry’s spine, igniting a feeling that made Harry’s eyes flutter closed. “ _J’ai envie de toi,_ ” he declared, and yeah, Harry could come just from this.

“ _Je suis à toi,_ ” Harry remarked softly. 

He knew that the lack of understanding was only contributing to Niall’s arousal and Harry was in love with the rare opportunity he had to make the other man go insane. Niall’s hands wrapped around Harry’s torso and migrated to the metal buttons on his shirt, making quick work of getting it off as he caressed Harry’s ear with his mouth.

“I literally have no clue what the fuck you’re saying, but don’t stop,” Niall growled lowly, and Harry turned to face him, pulling him into a deep kiss. His hands roamed Niall’s body, pushing the jean jacket he looked so. damn. good in off his shoulders and onto the floor and pulling at his t-shirt desperately.

“ _Baise moi,_ ” Harry breathed. Niall pulled away to look at him again, running a thumb over the Frenchman’s swollen red lips. Unprovoked, Harry’s mouth parted and he took Niall’s finger in his mouth dutifully and devilishly, never breaking eye contact as he sucked.

“Fuck,” Niall swore at the sight. Harry reached over and tugged at Niall’s jeans, licking circles over the pad of Niall’s thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Haz.”

Niall pulled his thumb from Harry’s lips, a trail of spit following obscenely. “ _Baise moi,_ ” Harry repeated, soft and breathy with lust.

While Harry knew factually that love and lust were not mutually exclusive, it still surprised him the way the two coexisted. Begging Niall to fuck him, it was clear as day in how dirty he allowed himself to be for the Irishman and also in how his heart swelled with a wholesome love so grand he wanted to write hymns about it. There was a tenderness hidden in the desperate way Niall undid the fly of Harry’s jeans and commanded them off his body - Harry could feel the care behind it. Harry hoped Niall could feel the intention behind his actions too.

With both of them now half-naked against the piano, Harry felt goosebumps form on his newly exposed skin and as Niall’s touch sent sparks through his body. His fingers teased along the elastic of Harry’s tenting black boxer briefs, just under the olive leaf tattoos mirroring each other across his hips. The scratch of Niall’s beard against his throat as he parted Harry’s legs with his knee left him unable to form words.

“ _Merde,_ ” Harry swore, voice becoming raspy.

“Harry,” beckoned Niall.

“ _Ouias,_ ” Harry responded through closed eyes. This moment felt like a dream.

“What do you want me to do to you?”

“ _Montre moi combien tu m'aimes._ ”

“Turn around again.”

Harry obeyed.

“Is this okay?” Niall paused. “Erm, English would be good here.”

Harry smiled. “This is perfect, _mon ange._ ”

“I love you,” Niall whispered. He began to leave soft kisses from Harry’s neck down his spine, the smoothness of his lips offset by the friction of his stubble and Harry felt like he was on fire. Niall lowered himself with every peck, torturously peeling away the only piece of fabric left that was separating him from Harry until all of him was exposed. Harry didn’t have to open his eyes or look down to know how hard he was and how wet he was at the tip already. He couldn’t open them, anyway - with the absolutely filthy way Niall had grabbed his ass and followed by licking a circle around his rim, Harry had involuntarily gotten tears in his eyes and a moan escaped as he threw his head back at the sensation holding onto the top of the piano for support.

It would have been embarrassing if he weren’t so comfortable in Niall’s grip. 

The way Niall was so focused on Harry’s own pleasure also created an emotion he couldn’t quite explain, but he knew it was pleasant. Very few times over the last four years was he made a priority in sex - he’d forgotten what it was like to feel like he _mattered_.

“Where’s your lube, petal?” Niall asked, and the only thought that could stick in Harry’s mind was that he quite liked this nickname.

“Top drawer, bedside table, my room,” was all Harry could muster, and the Irishman hurried to find it and was back in an instant.

One finger went in. Then two. Then three. And Harry thought he was on a completely different plane of existence as Niall prepared him. It was jolt after jolt of pain and then pleasure as his dick leaked and he kept rasping out, “ _Baise moi, Niall, s’il te plait baise moi,_ ” repeatedly.

His wishes were finally granted when Niall lined himself up against Harry, squeezing his hips so hard they turned stark white. Niall pushed into him slowly. Too slowly for Harry’s liking.

“Just let me know whenever it’s too much, oka— ah,” Niall maintained. Harry appreciated the gesture of consent, but he shifted his weight back abruptly and filled himself before the Irishman could finish his sentence.

“ _Baise moi!_ ” Harry commanded. He couldn’t take it anymore, he needed this. Niall, finally getting the hint, arched Harry’s back ever so slightly and _moved_ and Harry was losing his goddamn mind with every thrust as they found their rhythm. He apologized to the piano in his head for the rather pornographic situation - but surely all the great composers of history had to have a moment like this, right? Being fucked into oblivion across a piano by their beloved?

The thought exited Harry’s head when he felt Niall’s damp forehead rest against his shoulder and his right hand grip his over the piano. “ _Tu te sens si bien,_ ” Harry managed to exhale, and Niall’s breath hitched in response.

For a moment Niall slid out of Harry as they moved too fast, and Harry stopped Niall as he tried to realign. “Bed, please. I want to see you when you come,” he said breathily. “ _Je veux te voir venir._ ”

Niall could only nod, and as they made their way to the room, the two grasped at each other like horny teenagers, as if they’d die if they weren’t skin to skin. Finally in his room, Harry laid himself out across the mattress. Niall quickly climbed over him, pulling the sheets over them and capturing his lips in a passionate kiss Harry was growing to love and enjoy. 

“I keep saying this, but you really are the most beautiful person in the world,” Niall declared, brushing the tip of his nose against Harry’s and gazing at him through his thick eyelashes. The Frenchman’s heart raced. “God, I’m in love with you.”

“ _Tu es tout pour moi_ ,” said Harry, a goofy grin spreading across his face as he raised his head to plant a small, almost chaste (if not for the position they were in), kiss on Niall’s swollen pink lips. He pulled Niall in close as the other man put himself back inside, eliciting a small swear from Harry at the stretch.

Harry’s arms were wrapped around Niall’s neck and his nails dug into his shoulders as the other man found his rhythm again. He hit all the right places and the tears returned to Harry’s eyes. 

“ _Je suis sur le point de l'orgasme_ ,” whimpered Harry into Niall’s shoulder. He was so, so close.

And at the very least, that was a cognate Niall could understand. He moved one of Harry’s free hands to wrap around his own exposed, flushed dick and stroke it.

“Come for me,” Niall commanded, and Harry’s eyes fluttered as he felt the tension overpower him. He opened his eyes just enough to see the other man’s stormy eyes boring into him and he let go, climaxing at the sight of Niall alone. Niall began to lose his rhythm and Harry watched intently as his orgasm followed, feeling him unload inside of him. The way Niall’s eyes shut and his face scrunched was easily the most ridiculously sexy visual Harry had the privilege of witnessing. 

Harry wanted this forever. Deep down, he had a feeling he wouldn’t have to worry about that.

Niall collapsed on top of Harry, not unpleasantly, whispering sweet, unintelligible nothings into his neck. When he was able to catch his breath again, he pulled out and rolled to Harry’s side.

Harry pulled Niall’s face to his and kissed him again. “ _Je suis amoureux de toi,_ ” Harry whispered against Niall’s lips. 

“Whatever that means - same,” Niall smiled.

Niall, ever the gentleman, cleaned them up. Coming back to bed, he cuddled into Harry from behind, draping his arm across the Frenchman’s waist.

 _This was joy,_ Harry thought to himself. _This was hope_. 

“Uh, Haz?” Niall murmured next to Harry, suddenly alert.

“Yes, _mon amour?_ ”

“When are Anne and Darcy coming home?”

For a moment Harry was puzzled, wanting to just fall asleep in Niall’s arms and ride out his high. Why think about life? And then he remembered that it wasn’t even dinnertime yet, and yeah, he didn’t live in this flat alone.

Harry had never shot out of bed so fast. All he could hear as he ran down the hall to the living room, stark naked, was Niall cackling from his room. When he came back with their clothes, the two of them got to work attempting to make sure they looked presentable and that there were no signs of what had happened earlier.

“Look what you have done to me!” Harry said as they cleaned up and started up on the fire on the stove. 

“I didn’t do anything!” Niall laughed as he sliced the carrots.

“You have made me reckless and this is an outrage,” Harry replied, but it was all in jest. If anything, Niall made him feel completely comfortable, at ease with who he was. He didn’t have to hide or feel ashamed. 

For the first time in a very long time, Harry was on solid ground.

When Harry’s mother and Darcy returned to the flat to find Harry and Niall all smiles as they made dinner, the way Anne’s resting cynical expression softened and the knowing look she gave Harry was not lost on him.

Finally, his heart was no longer stopped. And Harry would always remember that.

*****

**Eight Months Later**

Niall was _stressed._

He had his laptop open on the Styles’ dining table, trying to remember all the promotion dates Glen and Cara had sent him for the album release after months of single drops. He’d been gaining some traction among indie-folk circles, and Rubyworks wanted to keep up the momentum by associating him more with some bigger names (like Hozier, to Niall’s fanboy glee) and bigger platforms. The response had been so positive to Niall’s work (the royalties from the singles alone had been enough to pay Liam back) but he couldn’t help but get nervous at what was to come. 

What if he fucked up the publicity appearances? What if no one came out to his shows? What if no one bought the album? What if he failed? Niall’s brain was in overdrive. The six digits on his contract were constantly looming over his shoulder - the possibility of what he could lose in an instant. Niall knew his team (he was still in awe that he had a team now, and that he could _say_ he had a team) was extremely supportive and experienced, but sometimes the anxiety would bite in the back of his head.

Niall was pulled from his thoughts by a small hand tugging at his shirt accompanied by a tiny voice trying to get his attention. 

“Niiiiiiall,” Darcy cooed at his side. Niall was still so soft at the way she’d accepted him into her life with ease. “Niall! Can we watch _Peppa Pig_?” 

Niall sighed happily. He couldn’t lie; he was rather enjoying this whole ‘dad’ thing. He hadn’t officially moved in (he and Harry both agreed to see where their careers took them, first), he was over at the Styles’ household fairly often. And while he wasn’t _quite_ on ‘dad’ status yet, and he didn’t expect to be for a long while, the way the most important person in Harry’s life trusted him made him feel like he was on top of the world. Plus, the fact that Harry trusted him with taking care of her as he started a new archivist position at Marsh’s Library made his heart swell. 

Darcy reminded Niall not to be so serious all the time. He could only imagine how Harry felt seeing her grow before his eyes. When he looked down at Darcy’s pleading green eyes, the stress of the day melted away.

“Course we can, Darce,” Niall replied, closing his laptop. Promotion dates could wait. He scooped her into his arms as she giggled and the two of them made their way to the sofa in front of the living room TV. He turned on Netflix and Darcy was practically shaking with excitement as the episode loaded. (She’d seen every _Peppa Pig_ episode at least 15 times already, but her enthusiasm for it never faded. Niall would be lying if he said it wasn’t the cutest thing.) 

Darcy was curled in a little blue blanket and snuggled next to Niall as the episodes went on. She pointed out her favorite characters, visibly reacted to the storylines as four-year-olds do and sang along with Niall. As she tired out, her eyes began to droop and she laid her head on Niall’s lap. Knowing she’d need her nap soon, Niall let the TV continue playing the show to ease her into it.

“Niall?” Darcy called from her spot. It was so soft Niall almost missed it.

“Yes, silly girl?” he replied as he brushed her golden hair away from her face.

“Are you like Peppa’s Daddy Pig?” 

Niall felt his heart stop for a moment. “Papa is your Daddy Pig, Darcy,” he said. He wanted to choose his words carefully.

“So you are like Mummy Pig? Mummy Pig is home like you and Papa is at work.”

The Irishman laughed softly at the comparison. “But you already have a Mummy Pig, silly,” he replied. Camille had been to Dublin to visit a handful of times, and she called Darcy on a regular basis. When the dust settled after the divorce, she and Harry had been able to peacefully schedule visits. At the end of the day, Camille cared about her daughter. And the last thing Niall wanted to do was complicate a relationship that was already strained.

Darcy looked up, brow furrowed from where she had been resting her head. “Maman can’t be Mummy Pig if she doesn’t live with us,” she explained matter-of-factly, as if Niall was stupid. “So that means you are Daddy-Mummy Pig.”

Niall chuckled and tucked Darcy’s blanket a little higher. “If you say I’m Daddy-Mummy Pig, then that’s what I am, silly,” he responded. Darcy didn’t reply, she simply curled into Niall’s torso tighter. On the inside, Niall’s heart felt too big for his chest as he drifted away into a nap by her side, head falling backward against the couch. 

A couple hours later, he was awoken by Harry’s familiar touch and soft kisses. “Wake up, _mon ange,_ ” Harry whispered softly. “Anne and I brought dinner.”

Niall rubbed his eyes groggily. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, post-nap raspiness taking over his voice. He placed a soft kiss on Harry’s cheek. Darcy still lay under his arm. 

Harry knelt down beside the couch to wake Darcy up. Expertly, he pulled her hair away from her face and caressed her cheek. “ _Réveille-toi ma chérie,_ ” he cooed at her. _Wake up, sweetheart._ Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and she sat up. “How was your day, little one?”

Darcy’s face lit up as she began to recall how she played with her toys and then how she went through the books Grand-mère had bought her and then how she had crackers for snack time and finally how she and Niall had watched _Peppa Pig_ until they fell asleep. She topped it all off with an enthusiastic, “And Niall is Daddy-Mummy Pig!”

Harry’s brow furrowed for just a moment. “He’s what?”

The little girl frowned, and explained it to her father the same way she did to Niall - as if he were the stupid one for not understanding. “You’re Daddy Pig and Maman isn’t here but Niall is and he takes care of us like Peppa’s mummy except he is a daddy, so he is Daddy-Mummy Pig!” she said.

Harry and Niall exchanged a look. Niall couldn’t quite read it, but he could see a hint of a twinkle in Harry’s eye. The Frenchman got up from where he was kneeling to sit on the couch with them. “How about if Niall is also Daddy Pig then?” Harry questioned.

Darcy seemed to think about this for a moment. She pursed her lips and placed her fingers on her chin. “Okay,” she said simply. Niall felt his heart growing again. 

“Okay,” Harry mirrored, then changed the subject. “ _Allons dîner_ ?” _Let’s eat dinner?_

The little girl nodded and hopped off the sofa, running to the bathroom to wash up. Niall looked at Harry incredulously and took the Frenchman’s hand. “You’re okay with all of that?” he asked.

Harry squeezed his hand and smiled. “I am more than okay with it,” he declared. “Come on, let’s eat! We bought Thai today.”

*****

Niall spent all of dinner thinking about this new step in his relationship with Harry and Darcy. He tried not to let the excitement and love keep him quiet as he sat with them and Anne eating pad thai and discussing the new developments with the label and Harry’s new job. He wanted to be present in this new moment. 

In all honesty, Niall had been thinking a lot about the future recently. Despite all the self-imposed stress he’d had about his music, the thought of a life with Harry completely relaxed him. It wasn’t the right time for a proposal, but he knew in his heart that it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ anymore, but ‘when.’

He loved the family that they were on their way to becoming.

When they finished dinner, they fell into the same cleanup routine that they did every night - Anne drinking her tea at the table, Harry and Niall washing the dishes, and Darcy helping with the drying. It was such a mundane part of their life but Niall cherished the way the four of them were together through the whole thing.

“Someone recognized me from your Instagram at the library today,” said Harry as he and Niall sat together on the sofa when Anne took Darcy to get ready for bed. The Frenchman had a black Moleskine notebook out on his lap and four huge tomes that looked about a hundred years old each. Niall was on his laptop, typing away at an opening act schedule. They had a nightly routine - sometimes Niall would be at Harry’s, sometimes Harry would be at the North Strand, and at a certain point in their relationship, they decided that if it was too late to go home for the night, they would simply sleep over. 

Niall looked up from his laptop behind his black round frame glasses. “Really?”

“They said, ‘Aren’t you Niall Horan’s boyfriend?’” Harry chuckled softly. “I thought it was kind of funny, they caught me while I was on a ladder putting books away in the Egyptology section. You’re famous!”

Niall snorted. “I’ve peaked, this is exactly what I was hoping would happen when I risked my life savings to record songs I wrote in my childhood bedroom,” he joked sarcastically, but there was no bite behind it. Things like this were beginning to happen more frequently, and he supposed he couldn’t be a choosing beggar, especially after he’d told Harry when they’d first met that he wanted to make music for people who would listen. This came with the territory.

Harry laughed fondly and looked back down at his notes briefly before looking up again. “Niall?”

“Yes, petal?”

“About today...if you’re not fully comfortable with Darcy calling you Dad yet that is okay, I don’t want to rush you if you are not ready...” Harry started before trailing off. He sighed with uncertainty. 

Niall immediately closed his laptop and put it on the coffee table. He scooted closer to Harry and held his hands. “Haz, look at me,” said Niall. Harry did, his viridian eyes full of worry meeting Niall’s aquamarine ones. “I know we haven’t talked about it much, and I know it’s a little early, but I need you to know that you’re the only person I plan on spending the rest of my life and having a family with. I love you, I love your mother, and I love Darcy like my own. Your family is my family. And I’m gonna make sure it stays that way.”

Harry took a moment to process what Niall had said. “I love you so much,” he breathed finally. He put his notebook on the table and moved to cuddle into Niall’s arms. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

Niall lived for moments like these. He kept them tucked away, and he was admittedly nostalgic about Harry - recalling their time together up until this point was the best form of escapism. This discussion would be another that he’d look back on years from now and smile. With Harry - beautiful, lovely, precious Harry - in his arms, Niall figured it would be a good time to finally show him something he’d been keeping to himself for a while.

“Oh, hey, I wrote a song about you,” said Niall, taking a seat next to Harry. He pulled out a small, palm-sized black notebook from his pocket. “Well, I’ve been working on it since I got back from New York – had the words coming to me a little while I was there and I kept them jotted down – but I think it’s been coming together. It kind of sounds like a breakup song, but only because that’s what it felt like the night before I left you.”

Harry pulled his arms away and looked at Niall, amusement and curiosity written all over him. Niall looked at him expectantly. The Frenchman said nothing, and for a second, Niall’s stomach dropped when he couldn’t read his expression. 

“So?” Niall asked nervously.

“Well are you going to play or not play?” sassed Harry, raising his eyebrows. It took Niall back to the day in Louis’ shop when they had first duetted with the cherry piano that was now sitting in the living room like royalty.

Niall’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Right,” he laughed. He got up to get his well-loved, ratty ass guitar from its case and threw it around his neck as he sat back down and positioned the notebook between him and Harry. Niall positioned his pick right over the strings but hovered before he could play anything. “It’s a work in progress, so don’t think it’s dumb…”

“Play!”

“And if you think it’s corny, let me know, alright?”

“Play!”

“The words kind of don’t make sense and I get it if you don’t like it–”

Harry cupped Niall’s face with his hands and placed a soft kiss on Niall’s lips before the Irishman could keep on babbling. “Niall, _je jure devant Dieu si tu ne joues pas déjà_ !” _I swear to God if you don’t play already!_

Niall blinked. “Huh?” he stuttered out.

“Play!” Harry demanded again, his wide eyes twinkling and a fond smile playing at the edges of his mouth. 

Niall laughed and began to pick a soft melody at the metal strings. He sang softly so as not to bother Darcy as Anne put her to sleep down the hall.

“ _My mind is complicated_

_Find it hard to rearrange it_

_But I'll have to find a way somehow_

_Overreacting lately_

_Find it hard to say I'm sorry_

_But I'll make it up to you somehow_

_And I just don't know why_

_The stars won't shine at night_

_Tell me you want it_

_A thousand miles away from the day that we started_

_But I'm standing here with you just tryna be honest_

_If honesty means telling you the truth_

_Well, I'm still in love with you.”_

Niall paused to look up at Harry as he played the transitions. To his relief, Harry was smiling, a visual that Niall never got tired of. He continued through what he had written so far.

“ _Did I miscalculate this?_

_Let's just go back to basics_

_Forget about what's come and gone_

_'Cause I hate to see us like this_

_Breaking up on nights just like this_

_We should be shooting for them stars of gold_

_So tell me you want it_

_A thousand miles away from the day that we started_

_But I'm standing here with you just tryna be honest_

_If honesty means telling you the truth_

_If honesty means telling you the truth_

_Well, I'm still in love with you.”_

When Niall finished, he took a breath to calm his nerves, then looked at Harry again. 

“What do ya think?” he asked.

Harry looked so bright and lovely and warm and fuck, Niall was so gone for him. “It’s beautiful,” the Frenchman replied.

“You can be honest with me, you know…”

“You of all people know I am always honest. Especially about your music,” said Harry matter-of-factly, brushing away any objections Niall might have had to that statement. “Also, I think I’m quite fond of you singing songs that are finally about me for once. So even if it was a bad song, you should – what’s that phrase – stroke my ego.”

Niall snorted and took his guitar off, leaning it gently against the rickety wooden coffee table. He moved closer to where Harry was positioned on the couch. “I can definitely stroke other things…” he drawled, but was interrupted by a small voice.

“Papa? Niall?” 

The two men whipped their heads around to find Darcy standing where the small hallway met the living room and kitchen, little blue blanket and the stuffed dog Niall had given her a few months ago tucked under her arm. Her big green eyes welled up with tears. Niall cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“What’s wrong, _ma chérie?_ ” Harry cooed, waving at her to come to the sofa. Darcy followed and curled up in the space between Harry and Niall that Niall had been meaning to close just a minute ago. 

“I can’t sleep,” Darcy whispered, her voice shaking every so slightly as she dug her face into Harry’s torso. “I keep having scary dreams.”

Niall took her blanket and laid it on top of her. “It’s okay petal, you’re with us now,” he comforted, rubbing Darcy’s back while Harry stroked her hair. Niall’s heart ached at her fear. “The scary dreams won’t get past me and your Papa.”

The little girl turned on her back to face Niall. “Daddy, can you play a song?” she asked, and Niall thought he was going to burst with joy when he realized how she addressed him. He turned his gaze up at Harry, and they gave each other a knowing look – Harry didn’t have to say anything for Niall to know he felt the exact same way as him – warm and soft and loved.

“Of course, silly girl,” Niall replied softly once the feelings of joy and surprise began to subside. He leaned over to grab his guitar and began to strum a delicate tune. “Come on, get comfy now.”

Darcy did as she was told, cuddling her stuffed dog and resting her head on Harry’s lap. 

“ _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away_ ,” Niall crooned the Johnny Cash classic as Darcy closed her eyes. 

Like clockwork, Harry joined in repeating the lullaby’s one happy stanza in perfect harmony until he looked down and found his daughter peacefully asleep, snoring softly.

Harry looked up at Niall as he patted Darcy’s back. “I love you,” he mouthed at Niall.

“With my everything,” Niall whispered back.

This was exactly where he was meant to be. Niall smiled to himself as he thought about the string of events that brought them here.

Niall remembers the mischief in Harry’s gorgeous green eyes when they met. He remembers how Harry immediately challenged everything he knew. He shook up Niall’s worldview and took him so completely out of his comfort zone. Niall always used to think of the two of them as two sides of the same coin, but now, he knew better. 

With his future unfolding before him and with renewed optimism, Niall now understood that sometimes, whether by chance or something greater, some people come together like magnets, complimenting each other perfectly and creating an energy unmatched by anything else. 

People were complicated. Life was complicated. And Niall knew that it wasn’t going to get any easier just because he was with his soulmate, and that, like everything, sustaining him and Harry’s relationship and his career would take work. But he was no longer chained to the past and he was more in tune with the chances that he was given.

Remembering alone took up too much precious time. As Niall watched Harry scoop Darcy into his long arms to bring her back to his room, he knew for certain that life was too short not to love fearlessly and in the moment. 

The words he and Harry sang together all those months ago echoed in his head.

_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice. You’ve made it now._

_Falling slowly, sing your melody, I’ll sing it loud._

_xx_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this story that has been in the back of my head for 4 years!
> 
> feel free to hit me up on tumblr (paynes-malik) if u ever wanna talk about anything!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> this 60something-k monster is my blood, sweat, research and tears LOL it’s the longest thing i have ever written in my life. my total passion project lol. i’m not sure if anyone will read it, but it was something i needed and it was extremely cathartic. if you read this, i hope you enjoy! you don’t need to have seen once to follow along, a lot of the lines are directly taken from the musical script and credit goes to enda walsh for writing this beautiful story, and john carney for writing and directing the film. some songs are taken from the musical as well and credit goes to glen hansard and marketa irglova for creating this beautiful music. and of course, credit to 1D, niall, liam and harry for their respective songs too haha. 
> 
> big thanks to flow3rs for her constant motivation, and to samantha for being an amazing and talented third pair of eyes to provide me with love, expert suggestions and hilarious reaction voice messages. sharing this with you was extremely vulnerable and while i never questioned my trust in you, it’s always hard to share something like this the first time. both of your support means the absolute world to me. all the love xx


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